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Full text of "St. Nicholas"

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P<'Ai O/v 



ST. NICHOLAS: 



AN 



Illustrated Magazine 



For Young Folks. 



CONDUCTED BY 



MARY MAPES DODGE. 



VOLUME XX. 
Part I., November, 1892, to April, 1893. 



THE CENTURY CO., NEW YORK 

T. FISHER UNWIN, LONDON. 



Copyright, 1893, by The Century Co. 




%\l987/ 




TiiK De Vinne Press. 



ST. NICHOLAS: 



VOLUME XX. 



PART I. 

Six Months — November, 1892, to April, 1893. 



CONTENTS OF PART I. VOLUME XX. 



^Adt'/a E. Orpen 255 



PAGE 

Another History. Verses Arlo Bates 337 

Aunt Aurora's Reticule, My. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Lillian L. Price 371 

Back from the Concert. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Malcolm Douglas 121 

Bamboo, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Alfred L. Brennan) Mary McNeil Scott 352 

Battle-ships and Sea-fights of the Ancients. (Illustrated by the ? , ,. ^ „ . , 

i Julian O. Davidson 216 

Author) > 

Battling Under Water. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson) Frederick Hobart Spencer. . . . 249 

Before the Clock. Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Malcolm Douglas 120 

Bloom of the Christmas Tree, The. Poem Mary Mapes Dodge 89 

Boastful Pug, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Malcolm Douglas 121 

Boston. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn) Thomas Wentworth Higginson 170 

Boy and Hound. Picture, from the painting by Steffeck 290 

Boyhood of Louis XIV., The. (Illustrated by Harry Fenn and from 

photographs) 

Boy's Cartoon, The. Poem. (Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens) . . . .Margaret J. Preston 323 

Bruin and the Porcupine. Pictures, drawn by E. W. Kemble 382 

Chinese Valentine, A. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) 260 

Christmas Morning. Picture, drawn by John Richards 238 

" City " Series. (Illustrated) 

Boston Thomas Wentworth Higginson 1 70 

Philadelphia Talcott Williams 324 

New York Edmund Clarence Stedman . . . 403 

Class in Catchology, A. Picture, drawn by Albertine Randall Wheelan 442 

Collar- Wallah and the Poison-Stick. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) . Kudyard Kipling 243 

Columbian Naval Parade, The. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson) . .Daniel Judson 231 

Conjurer, The. Poem Julie M. Lippmann 306 

Cornet-player, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) Malcolm Douglas 120 

Cozy Corner, A. Picture, from the painting by Frank Millet 96 

Cruise of the Elves, The. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Felix Leigh 314 

Driving the Cow. Poem Virginia Woodward Cloud ... 351 

Easter Morning. Picture, drawn by John Richards 444 

"Five Policemen in the Night-time." Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. ) 

TTJJ-. (Malcolm Douglas 361 

Fortune's Smile. Pictures, drawn by E. W. Kemble 222 

French Hu.nting-DOG, A. Picture, from the painting by Rosa Bonheur 105 

From Reveille to Taps. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Gustav Kobbe 68 

From the Postboy to the Fast Mail. (Illustrated by Robert Blum, ^ r, ^ , , r 

F. H. Lungren. and C.T.Hill) \Ehzabeth Satterfield 126 

Garret at Grandfather's, The. (Illustrated by the Author) Mary Hallock Foote 338 



VI CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

General Dadley. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frank Valentine . 56 

Geometrical Giraffe, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the .\uthor) Oliver Herfoni 44 

Giant in Fragments, .\. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Felix Leigh 34 

Gifted Ant, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) Oliver Herford 461 

Gingerbread Boy, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) . Maleolm Douglas 121 

Good Night. Poem Louise Chandler Moulton . . . 344 

Granger Grind and Farmer Mellow. Song. (Illustrated by the Author) Jaek Bennett 472 

Greetings, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 75 

Hallow-e'en Frolic, A. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) //elen Gray Cone 15 

Hanging Garden, A. Poem. (Illustrative head-piece by Harry Fenn) . .Edith M. Thomas 114 

Hard to Be.-vr. Verses. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Tudor Jenks 181 

Harold and the Railway Signals. (Illustrated by Frank H. Schell). .Kirk Munroe 122 

Hired Man's Way, The. Jingle John Kendriek Bangs 467 

Holly-berry and Mistletoe. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) M. Carrie Hyde 90 

191.291,356 

How Bunny Brought Good Luck. (Illustrated by Walter Bobbett). . . Susan Coolidge 450 

How HiNKADEPENK GROUND THE CoRN. Verses. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) .... 152 

How Janet Did It. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Katharine Festetits 283 

"I'D Like a Berth in the Sleeping-Coach." Jingle. (Illustrated by ) 

r T Hiin (^Maleolm Douglas 360 

I.NANIMATE THINGS ANIMATED. Pictures, drawn by P. Newell 31, 106, 107, 236, 392, 393, 476 

In a Ring of Fire. (Illustrated by Frank H. Schell) F. H. Kellogg 142 

Ingenious Trifle, An. (Illustrated by V. Perard) Ernestine Fezandie 76 

In the Woods in March. Picture, drawn by E. Oakford 398 

Jack Dilloway's Scheme. (Illustrated by Tudor Jenks) J. L. Harbour ... 58 

Jack Frost. Verses Ruth Hall 57 

Jingles 21, 120, 121, 237, 268, 360, 361, 443, 467 

John, Our Neighbor. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) Harrie Priee 64 

Just for Fun. (Illustrated) Malcolm Douglas 120 

121, 360, 361 

Ki.ng's Fool, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 443 

Kitty's Christmas Stocking. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Kate V. Thompson 387 

Lament of Polly Cla, The. Poem. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) H. J. H 277 

Language Lessons. Picture, drawn by P. Newell 229 

Largest Kite in the World, "The Uncle Sam." (Illustrated by C. ) 

™ TTii f u . 1 \ I ^- Ferguson Conant 464 

T. Hill, from photographs) ) * ^ ^ 

Listening to the " Bugaboo " Story. Picture, drawn by Malcolm Eraser 386 

Little Girl that Cried, The. Poem Edith M. Thomas 295 

Little Johnny's Composition. (Illustrated) Malcolm Douglas 120 

Little Peter and the Giant. (Illustrated by Dan Beard) Jaek Bennett 261 

Little Servants of the Sea, The. (Illustrated by Thomas Moran). . . Alfte IV. Rollins 444 

Little Verse that Fills Up the Page, The . . Edith M. Tlwmas 235 

Lost. From the painting by Auguste Schenck 345 

Mark Twain's Big Namesake. (Illustrated from photographs) Frank M. Chapman 108 

Marsh-hvwk, a Young. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) John Burroughs 16 

Molly Ryan's Christmas Evk. (Illustrated by W. Taber) \V. J. Henderson 114 

New Year's Cake, A. Verses. (Illustrated by Jessie McDermott) Margaret Johnson 234 

New Year's Day in the Morning, On. Poem. (Illustrated by Frank > ,, , ^ ^ 

p. , ? Helen Gray tone 163 

New York. (Illustrated) Edmund Clarence Stedman .... 403 

Not so Bad as It Might Be. Jingle. (Illustrated by Minna Brown) . .John Kendriek Bangs 268 

" Old-blue " Vase, The. (Illustrated by Guy Rose) Anna A. Rogers 182 

Old Doll to the New One, The. Verses. (Illustrated by C. T. YixW) . Felix Leigh . . . 370 

On New Year's Day in the Morning. Poem. (Illustrated by Frank ? „ , ^ 

P , / Helen Gray C one 163 

Our Neighbor John. (Illustrated by Albertine Randall Wheelan) Harrie Priee 64 

Outdoor Reception, An. Poem. (Illustrated) John G. IVhitlier 3 

Persian Columbus, Thk. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Jack Bennett 146 

Philadelphia — A City ok Homes. (Illustrated) Taleott Williams 324 



CONTENTS. VII 

PACB 

PhoeBK. Picture, from tlie painting by Robert W. V'onnoh I31 

Plcri'RES 31,67,96, 105,131.^09.222,223.229,236,238,290, 296, 345.375. 3^2. 386,392,393.398,444.476 

Plain-spoken Ostrich, A. Jingle. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill) MaUolm Douglas 361 

PoLi.Y Oliver's Problem. (Illustrated by George H. Fox and Irving? ,.,,,,. 

,^ Wiles) ... S "' ^""S'''^ i^tggi" 6 

97, 198, 297, 346, 420 
Postboy to the Fast Mail, From the. (Illustrated l)y Robert Hlum, { 

F. H. Lungren, and C. T. Hill) iRhznbeth SatterjidJ 126 

Potted Princess, The. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Rudyatd Kipling 164 

Prince Cam and the Fairies. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Sydney Reid 456 

Queer Plant, .V. Pictures, drawn by John Richards 375 

Race with an Avalanche, A. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) Fanny Hyde Merrill 132 

Railw.w Signals, Harold and the. (Illustrated by Frank H. Schell) .Kirk Munroe 122 

Railway Speed at Sea. (Illustrated by the Author) Julian O. Davidson 310 

Random Shot, .\. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Marion Hill 210 

Reveille to Taps, From. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden) Gustav Kobbc 68 

Reversible Jingles Frank Valentine 237 

Ring of Fire, In a. (Illustrated by Frank H. Schell) /".//. Kellogg 142 

Road to Yesterday, The. Poem Julie M. Lippmann 386 

Siren, The. (Illustrated by W. Taber) Henry Bacon 40 

S.nake-charmers of Ceylon, with Cobras. Picture, from a photograph 296 

"Snow-Bound," The Story of Whittier's. (Illustrated by the .\uthor). .Harry Fenn 427 

Soldiering of Bexiah Stidham, The. (Illustrated by the Author) . . . Howard Pyle 83 

" Some Bold Bad Thieves." Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 360 

Spi.nning O.N THE Mall, The. Poem. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden). . . .Nora Perry 180 

Story of Whittier's " Snow-Bound," The. (Illustrated by the Author) . Harry Fenn 427 

Suggestion to Teachers, A. Verses Tudor Jenks 208 

Three Caravels of Columbus, The. (Illustrated by Julian O. Davidson). y<7A« M. Ellicott 383 

Tourna.ment of Roses, A. (Illustrated by C. T. Hill, W. H. Shelton, ) ^, , ^ 

J i- , , , . > Charles Frederick Holder ... 376 

and from photographs) ) •" 

TriU-MPH of Art, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) John P. Lyons 21 

Twilight. Poem Mary Thacher Higginson .... 32 

Uncle J.ack's Great Run. Verses. (Illustrated by H. A. Ogden). Tudor Jenks 32 

" Uncle Sam," The Largest Kite in the World. (Illustrated by C. T. ) 

Hill from photographs) V^^' ^''-g^'^''' Sonant 464 

Unfortunate Visit, An. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) N. P. Babcock 394 

V.\lentine Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by Margaret Johnson). . D. J. B 315 

Versatile Violin, The. Verses. (Illustrated by John Richards) Tudor Jenks 381 

Vrow that Lives by Haarlem Lake, The. Verses. (Illustrated by ) 

C. T. Hill) \ 307 

Walrus-Hunt in Arctic Seas, A. (Illustrated by W. Taber) 468 

Wandering Minstrel, The. Poem. (Illustrated from a painting by ? , ,, . 

T-Ti-x V b 1 \ •\/^jrorarci Hamilton 208 

Louis Leloir) > •^ 

" We All 's Gwine Swimmin'." Pictures, drawn by E. W^ Kemble 67 

" Were You at Bull's Run ? " Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) . . .Malcolm Douglas 361 

What the Lord High Chamberlain Said. Verses. (Illustrated bv ? 

R R R' h 1 S ^ "'g^""^ Woodward Cloud .... 430 

When She was Three Years Old. Poem. (Illustrated by Walter ? ^ ,,. , . 

Bobbett) S^'''' ^'"'''- 63 

When We Get Round the Fire at Night. Poem Virginia Woodward Cloud. . . 229 

White Cave, The. (Illustrated by W. Taber) William O. Stoddard 22 

136, 224, 269, 362, 434 
"Why do You Ju.mp Wherever You Go?" Jingle. (Illustrated by \ 

R. B. Birch) ^Malcolm Douglas 360 

Winter at the Zoo. (Illustrated by the Author an<l by A. Doring) . . . .Elizabeth F. Bonsall 47 

Wintry Cheer. Poem. (Illustrated by George Foster Barnes) Harriet Prescott Spofford 74 

Year With Dolly, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Eudora S. Bumstead 73» 151 

You. Verses Nicholas E. Crosby 442 

Young Marsh-hawk, A. (Illustrated by Meredith Nugent) John Burroughs 16 

Zoo, Winter at the. (Illustrated by the .\uthor and by A. Doring). . . Elizabeth F. Bonsall 47 



VIII CONTENTS. 



FRONTISPIECES. 



" Autumn," from the painting by Mauve, facing Title-page of Volume — "They Used to Drill Every Evening," 
by Howard Pyle, page 82 — "On New Year's Day in the Morning," by Frank French, page 162— "Capture of a 
Dutch Fleet by Hussars of the French Republic, January, 1794," from the painting by Charles E. Delort, page 242 
— " The Boy's Cartoon," by Alice Barber Stephens, page 322 — " A Spanish Boy," from the painting by Velasquez, 
page 402. 

Plays and Mrsic. (Illustrated) 

Granger Grind and Farmer Mellow Jack Bennett 472 

DEPARTMENTS. 

Jack-ix-the-Pl'LPIT. (Illustrated.) 

Introduction — A Winter Resort — Choose Your Christmas Gift (illustrated), 156; Introduction — Humpty- 
Dumpty in the Far East — A Long Fence — A Gymnastic Goldfish — The High-minded Hare — The Gala- 
pagos Tortoises (illustrated), 232; Introduction — When Jack Frost Plucks his Geese — An Elephant's 
Sunshade (illustrated) — The Ant as an Engineer, 312; Introduction — Crocuses — A Live Paper-weight — 
No Light Chicks Need Apply — A Misspelled Tail — The Tree of Love (illustrated), 474. 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 77. 15^- 237. 316, 396, 477 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 79. I59. 239, l^% 399- 479 

Editorial Notes 158, 316 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XX. 



NOVEMBER. 1892. 

Copyright, 1S92, by The Centi-rv Co. All rights reserved. 



No. I. 



AN OUTDOOR RECEPTION. 



By John Greenleaf Whittier. 



Newburyport, ^L\ssachusetts. 
i2th Month, 15th, 1891. 
Editor of St. Nicholas : At thy suggestion, I have searched among my papers for some 
thing not yet printed, and I venture to send these rhymes which were hastily penciled several 
years ago during a sojourn among the hills. In deciphering them, I have made some changes 
and additions. Such as they are, the verses are at thy service, though they were intended only 
for a small audience of young folk, fit and few. J. G. \V. 



N these green banks, where falls too soon 
The shade of Autumn's afternoon, 
The south wind blowing soft and sweet, 
The water gliding at my feet, 
The distant northern range uplit 
By the slant sunshine over it, 
With changes of the mountain mist 
From tender blush to amethyst, 
The valley's stretch of shade and gleam 
Fair as in Mirza's Bagdad dream. 
With glad young faces smiling near 
And merry voices in my ear, 
I sit, methinks, as Hafiz might 
In Iran's Garden of Delight. 
For Persian roses blushing red, 
Aster and gentian bloom instead; 
For Shiraz wine, this mountain air ; 
For feast, the blueberries which I share 
With one who proffers with stained hands 
Her gleanings from yon pasture lands. 
Wild fruit that art and culture spoil, 




AN OUTDOOR KECErXlOX. [Nov. 

The harvest of an untilled soil ; 

And with her one whose tender eyes 

Reflect the change of April skies, 

Midway 'twixt child and maiden yet, 

Fresh as Spring's earliest violet; 

And one whose look and voice and ways 

Make where she goes idyllic days ; 

And one whose sweet, still countenance 

Seems dreamful of a child's romance ; 

And others, welcome as are these. 

Like and unlike, varieties 

Of pearls on nature's chaplet strung. — 

And all are fair, for all are young. 

Gathered from seaside cities old. 

From midland prairie, lake and wold. 

From the great wheat-fields, which might feed 

The hunger of a world at need. 

In healthful change of rest and play 

Their school-vacations glide away. 

No critics these : they only see 

An old and kindly friend in me, 

In whose amused, indulgent look 

Their innocent mirth has no rebuke; 

And, finding midst my rugged rhymes 

Set to harsh notes of evil times. 

And graver themes on minor keys 

Of life's and death's solemnities. 

Some lighter, happier strains more fit 

To move the heart than sadden it, — 

Hints of the boyhood of the man, 

Youth viewed from life's meridian, — 

Half seriously and half in play. 

My pleasant interviewers pay 

Their visit in the simplest wa)". 

As yonder solitary pine 

Is ringed below with flower and vine, 

More favored than that lonely tree. 

The bloom of girlhood circles me. 

In such an atmosphere of youth 

I half forget my age's truth ; 

The shadow of my hfe's long date 

Runs backward on the dial-plate. 

Until it seems a step might span 

The gulf between the boy and man. 

My young friends smile, as if some jay 
On bleak December's leafless spray 
F.s.sayed to sing the songs of May. 
\Vell, let them smile, and live to know. 
When their brown locks are flecked with snow. 



AN OUTDOOR RKCEPTION. 

'T is tedious to be always sage 
And pose the dignity of a'ge, 
While so much of our early lives 
On memory's playground still survives, 
And owns, as at the present hour, 
The spell of youth's magnetic power. 
But though I feel, with Solomon, 
T is pleasant to behold the sun, 
I would not if I could repeat 
A life which still is good and sweet; 
I keep in age, as in my prime, 
A not uncheerful step with time, 
And, grateful for all blessings sent, 
I go the common way, content 
To make no new experiment. 
On easy terms with law and fate. 
For what must be I calmly wait, 
And trust the path I cannot see, — 
That God is good sufficeth me. 
And when at last upon life's play 
The curtain falls, I only pray 
That hope may lose itself in truth. 
And age in Heaven's immortal youth. 
And all our loves and longing prove 
The foretaste of diviner love ! 

The day is done. Its afterglow 
Along the west is burning slow. 
My visitors, like birds, have flown; 
I hear their voices, fainter grown, 
And dimly through the dusk I see 
Their 'kerchiefs wave good night to me, — 
Light hearts of girlhood, knowing nought 
Of all the cheer their coming brought; 
And, in their going, unaware 
Of silent-following feet of prayer: 
Heaven make their budding promise good 
With flowers of gracious womanhood! 




POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. 



llv Kate Douglas Wiggix. 

Author of " The Birds Christmas Carol,''" A Summer in a Cafwn^ etc. 




Si,% 




boarders must go. Oh, how charming that 
sounds! I 've been thinking it ever since I 
was old enough to think, but 1 never cast it 
in such an attractive, decisive form before. 
'The Boarders Must Go!' It 's every bit 
as inspiring as ' The Chinese Must Go.' If I 
" I iiAVK only determined one thing defm- were n't obliged to set the boarders' table I 'd 
itely," said Polly Oliver; "and that is, the work this minute the motto on a banner and 

6 



Pretty Polly Oliver, my hope and my fear. 
Pretty Polly Oliver, I 've loved you so dear! 

Dinah Maria Mulock. 

Chapikk I. 

A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 



POLLY OLIVKK S PKOHLEM. 



march up and down the phiza with it, followed 
by a crowd of small boys with toy drums." 

" The Chinese never did go," said Mrs. 
Oliver, suggestively, from the sofa. 

" Oh! that 's nothing; they had a treaty or 
something, and besides, there are so many of 
them, and they have such an object in staying." 

" You can't turn people out of the house on 
a moment's warning." 

" Certainly not. Give them twenty-four 
hours if necessary. We can choose among 
several methods of getting rid of them. I can 
put up a placard with 

'BOARDERS, HO!' 

printed on it in large letters, and then assem- 
ble them in the banquet-hall and make them 
a speech." 

" You would insult them," objected Mrs. 
Oliver feebly, '* and they are perfectly in- 
nocent." 

" Insult them ? Oh ! Mama, how unworthy 
of you ! I shall speak to them firmly but very 
gently. ' Ladies and Gentlemen,' I shall be- 
gin, ' you have done your best to make pal- 
atable the class of human beings to which you 
belong, but you have utterly failed and you 
must go ! Board, if you must, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, but not here ! Sap, if you must, the 
foundations of somebody else's private para- 
dise, but not ours. In the words of the Poe-et, 
' Take thy beaks from off our door.' Then 
it will be over and they will go out." 

" Shnk out, I should say," murmured Polly's 
mother. 

" Very well, slink out," repHed Polly cheer- 
fully. " I should like to see them slink, after 
they 've been rearing their crested heads 
round our table for generations ; but I think 
you credit them with a sensitiveness they do not, 
and in the nature of things cannot, possess. 
There is something in the unnatural life which 
hardens both the boarder and those who board 
her. However, I don't insist on that method. 
Let 's try bloodless eviction, — put them quietly 
out in the street with their trunks ; or strat- 
egy, — put one of them in bed and hang out 
the smallpox flag — Oh! I can get them out 
in a week if I once set my mind on it." 

" No doubt of that," said Mrs. Oliver, meekly. 



Polly's brain continued to teem with sinister 
ideas. 

" I shall make Mr. Talbot's bed so that the 
clothes will come off at the foot every night. 
He will remonstrate. I shall tell him that his 
conscience troubles him, or he would never be 
so resUess. He will glare. I shall [jromise to 
do better, yet the clothes will come off worse 
and worse, and at last, perfectly disheartened, 
he will go. I shall tell Mr. Greenwood at the 
breakfast-table, what I have been longing U)t 
months to tell him, that we can hear him .snore 
distinctly through the partition. He will go. 
I shall put cold milk in Mrs. Caldwell's coffee 
every morning. I shall mean well, you know, 
but I shall forget. She will know that I mean 
well, and that it is only forgetfulness, but she 
will not endure it very long ; she will go. And 
so, by the exercise of a little ingenuity, they 
will depart one by one, remarking that Mrs. 
Oliver's boarding-house is not what it used to 
be ; that Pauline is getting a little ' slack.' " 

" Polly ! " and Mrs. Oliver half rose from the 
sofa, " I will not have you call this a boarding- 
house in that tone of voice." 

" A boarding-house, as I take it," argued 
Polly, " is a house where boarders are ' taken 
in and done for.' " 

" But we have always prided ourselves on 
having it exacUy like a family," said her mo- 
ther, plaintively. " You know we have not 
omitted a single refinement of the daintiest 
home-life, no matter at what cost of labor and 
thought." 

" Certainly, that 's the point, — and there you 
are a sofa-invalid, and here I am with my dis- 
position ruined for life ; such a wreck in temper 
that I could blow up the boarders with dyna- 
mite and sleep peacefully after iL" 

" Now be reasonable, little daughter. Think 
how kind and grateful the boarders have been 
(at least almost always), how appreciative of 
everything we have done for them." 

" Of course, it is n't every day they get an — 
an — elderly Juno like you to carve meat for 
them, or a — well, just for the sake of com- 
pleting the figure of speech — a blooming Hebe 
like me (I 've always wondered why it was n't 
S/iihel) to dispense their tea and coffee; to 
say nothing of broma for Mrs. Talbot, Phillips's 



8 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Nov. 



cocoa for Mr. Greenwood, cambric tea for 
Mrs. Hastings, and hot water for the DarUngs. 
I have to keep a schedule, and refer to it three 
times a day. That alone shows that it is n't 
my vocation." 

A bit of conversation gives the clue to char- 
acter so easily that Mrs. Oliver and her daugh- 
ter need little more description. You can see 
the pretty, fragile mother resting among her 
pillows, and I need only tell you that her dress 
is always black, her smile patient, her eyes full 
of peace, and her hands never idle save in this 
one daily resting-hour prescribed by the de- 
termined Miss Polly, who mounts guard dur- 
ing the appointed time like a jailer who expects 
his prisoner to escape if he removes his eagle 
eye for an instant. 

The aforesaid impetuous Miss Polly has also 
told you something of herself in this brief in- 
terview. She is evidently a person who feels 
matters rather strongly, and who is wont to 
state them in the strongest terms she knows. 
Every word she utters shows you that, young 
as she looks, she is the real head of the family, 
and that her vigorous independence of thought 
and speech must be the result of more care 
and responsibility than ordinarily fall to the 
lot of a girl of sixteen. 

Certain of her remarks must be taken with a 
grain of salt. Her assertion of willingness to 
blow up innocent boarders in their beds would 
seem, for instance, to indicate a vixenish and 
vindictive sort of temper quite unwarranted by 
the circumstances; but a glance at the girl her- 
self contradicts the thought. 

Item: A firm chin. She will take her own 
way if she can possibly get it ; but item : a 
sweet, lovable mouth framed in dimples; a 
mouth that breaks into smiles at the slightest 
provocation, no matter how dreary the out- 
look; a mouth that quivers at the first tender 
word, and so the best of all correctives to the 
determined little chin below. 

Ite7n : A distinctly saucy nose. An aggres- 
sive, impertinent, sj^irited little nose, with a few 
freckles on it ; a nose that probably leads its 
possessor into trouble occasionally. 

Ite7n: Two bright eyes, a trifle over-proud 
and wilful perhaps, but candid and full of 
laughter. 



Item: A head of briUiant, auburn hair; 
hvely, independent, frisky hair,- each glittering 
thread standing out by itself and asserting its 
own individuality; tempestuous hair that never 
"stays put"; wilful hair that escapes hairpins 
and comes down unexpectedly; hoydenish hair 
that makes the meekest hats look daring. 

For the rest, a firm, round figure, no angles, 
everything, including elbows, in curves; bloom- 
ing cheeks and smooth-skinned, taper-fingered 
hands tanned a very honest brown — the hands 
of a person who loves beauty. 

Polly Ohver's love of beautiful things was a 
passion, and one that had little gratification; 
but luckily, though beautiful music, pictures, 
china, furniture, and "purple and fine linen" 
were all conspicuous by their absence, she 
could feast without money and without price 
on the changeful loveliness of the Santa Bar- 
bara Mountains, the sapphire tints of the placid 
Pacific, and the gorgeous splendor of the Cali- 
fornian wild flowers; and so her sense of beauty 
never starved. 

Her hand was visible in the little sitting- 
room where she now sat with her mother; for 
it was pretty and homelike, although its simple 
decorations and furnishings had been brought 
together little by little during a period of two 
years; so that the first instalments were all 
worn out (Polly was wont to remark plain- 
tively) before the last additions made their 
appearance. 

The straw matting had Japanese figures on 
it, while a number of rugs covered the worn 
places and gave it an opulent look. The 
table-covers, full curtains, and portieres were 
of blue jean worked in outline embroidery, and 
Mrs. Oliver's couch had as many pillows as 
that of an Oriental princess; for Polly's sum- 
mers were spent camping in a canon, and she 
embroidered sofa-cushions and draperies with 
frenzy during these weeks of out-of-door life. 

Upon the cottage piano was a blue Canton 
ginger-jar filled with branches of feathery bam- 
boo that spread its lace-like foliage far and wide 
over the ceiling and walls, quite covering the 
large spot where the roof had leaked. Various 
stalks of tropical-looking jjalms, distributed ar- 
tistically about, concealed the gaping wounds 
in the walls, inflicted bv the Pcnton children. 



189a. 1 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



who had once occupied this same apartment. 
Mexican water-jars, bearing peacock-feathers, 
screeneil Mr. Benton's two favorite phices for 
scratching matches. The lounge was the sort 
of lounge that looks well only between two 
windows, but Polly was obliged to place it 
across the comer where she really wanted the 
table, because in that i)osition it shielded from 
the public view the enormous black spots made 




POLLV AS WAITRESS. 



on the wall where Reginald Benton flung the 
ink-bottle at his angel sister Pansy Belle. 

Then there was an umbrella-lamp, bestowed 
by a boarder whom Mrs. Oliver had nursed 
through typhoid fever; a banjo; plenty of 
books and magazines, and an open fireplace 
with a great pitcher of yellow wild flowers 
standing between the old-fashioned brass and- 
irons. 

Little Miss Oliver's attitude on the question 



of the boarders must stand (juite without justi- 
fication. 

"It is a part of Polly," sighed her mother, 
"and must be borne with Christian fortitude." 

Colonel Oliver had never fully recovered 
from a wound received in the last battle of 
the civil war, and when he was laid in a little 
New England churchyard, so much of Mrs. 
Oliver's heart was buried with him that she 
could scarcely take up the burden of life with 
any sort of courage. At last her delicate 
health prompted her to take the baby daugh- 
ter, bom after her husband's death, and go to 
southern California, where she invested her 
tiny property in a house in Santa Barbara. 
She could not add to her income by any oc- 
cupation that kept her away from the baby; 
so the boarders followed as a matter of course 
(a house being suitable neither for food nor 
clothing), and a constantly changing family of 
pleasant people helped her to make both ends 
meet, and to educate the little daughter as she 
grew from babyhood into childhood. 

Now, as Polly had grown up among the 
boarders, most of whom petted her, no one can 
account for her slightly ungrateful reception of 
their good will ; but it is certain that the first 
time she was old enough to be trusted at the 
table, she grew very red in the face, slipped 
down from her high chair, and took her bowl 
of bread and milk on to the porch. She was 
followed and gently reasoned with, but her 
only explanation was that she did n't " yike to 
eat wiv so many peoples." Persuasion bore 
no fruit, and for a long time Miss Polly ate 
in sohtary grandeur. Indeed, the feeling in- 
creased rather than diminished, until the child 
gi-ew old enough to realize her mother's bur- 
den, when with passionate and protecting love 
she put her strong young shoulders under the 
load and lifted her share, never so very pret- 
tily and gracefully ( it 's no use' trying to paint 
a halo round Polly's head), but with a proud 
courage and a sort of desperate resolve to be as 
good as she could, — which was not very good, 
she would have told you. 

She would come back from the beautiful 
home of her friend. Bell Winship, and look 
about on her own surroundings, never with 
scorn or sense of bitterness, she was too sensi- 



lO 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



[Nov. 



ble and sweet-natured for that, but with an 
inward rebelHon against the existing state of 
things, and a secret determination to create a 
better one, if God would only give her power 
and opportunity. But this pent-up feeling only 
showed itself to her mother in bursts of impul- 
sive nonsense at which Mrs. Oliver first laughed 
and then sighed a little. 

" Oh 1 for a little, little breakfast -table ! " 
Polly would say, as she flung herself on her 
mother's couch, and punched the pillows des- 
perately. " A father to say ' Steak, Polly dear ? ' 
instead of my asking, ' Steakorchops ? ' over 
and over every morning ; a lovely, grown-up, 
black-haired sister, who would have hundreds 
of lovers, and let me stay in the room when 
they called; a litde baby brother, fat and 
dimpled, who would crow and spill milk on 
the table-cloth, and let me sit on the floor and 
pick up the things he threw down ! But in- 
stead of that, a new, big, strange family, — dif- 
ferent people every six months, people who 
don't like each other, and have to be seated at 
opposite ends of the table; ladies whose lips 
tremble with disappointment if they don't get 
the second joint of the chicken, and gentlemen 
who are sulky if any one else gets the liver. 
Oh I Mama, I am sixteen now, and it will 
soon be time for me to begin taking care of 
you; but, I warn you, I shall never do it by 
means of the boarders ! " 

" Are you so weak and proud, little daugh- 
ter, as to be ashamed because I have taken 
care of you these sixteen years ' by means of 
the boarders,' as you say ? " 

"No, no. Mama! Don't think so badly 
of me as that. That feeling was outgrown 
long ago. Don't I know that it is just as fine 
and honorable as anything else in the world, 
and don't I love and honor you with all my 
heart because you do it in so sweet and dig- 
nified a way that everybody respects you for 
it ? But it is n't my vocation. I would like 
to do something different, something wider, 
something lovelier, if I knew how, and were 
ever good enough ! " 

"It is easy to 'dream noble things,' dear, 
but hard to do them ' all day long.* My own 
feeling is that if one attains the results one is 
struggling for, and does one's work as well as 



it lies in one to do it, that keeping boarders is 
as good service as any other bit of the world's 
work. One is not always permitted to choose 
the beautiful or glorious service. Sometimes 
all one can do is to make the humble action 
fine by doing it ' as it is done in heaven.' Re- 
member, ' they also serve who only stand and 
wait.' " 

" Yes, Mama," said Polly, meekly ; " but " 
(stretching out her young arms hopefully and 
longingly), " it must be that they also serve who 
stand and dare, and I 'm going to try that first ; 
— then I '11 wait if God wants me to." 

" What if God wants you to wait first, little 
daughter ? " 

Polly hid her face in the sofa-cushions and 
did not answer. 

Chapter II. 

FORECASTING THE FUTURE. 

Two of Mrs. Oliver's sitting-room windows 
looked out on the fig-trees, and the third on a 
cozy piazza-corner framed in passion-vines, 
where at the present moment stood a round 
table holding a crystal bowl of Gold of Ophir 
roses, a brown leather portfolio, and a dish of 
apricots. Against the table leaned an old Span- 
ish guitar with a yellow ribbon round the neck, 
and across the comer hung a gorgeous ham- 
mock of Persian colored threads, with two or 
three pillows of canary-colored China silk in 
one end. A bamboo lounging-chair and a 
Shaker rocker completed the picture; and the 
passer-by could generally see Miss Anita Fer- 
guson reclining in the one, and a young (but 
not wise) man from the East in the other. It 
was not always the same young man any more 
than the decorations were always of the same 
color. 

" That 's another of my troubles," said Polly 
to her friend Margery Noble, pulling up the 
window-shade one afternoon and pointing to 
the now empty " cozy corner." " I don't mind 
Miss Ferguson's sitting there, though it used 
always to be screened ofi'for my doll-house, and 
I love it dearly; but she pays to sit there, and 
she ought to do it; besides, she looks prettier 
there than any one else. Is n't it lovely ? The 
other day she had j;ink oleanders in the howl, 
the cushions turned pink side un (you see they 



•89=] 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



I I 



are canary and rose-color), a pink cambric dress, 
and the guitar trimmeil with a fringe of narrow 
pink ribbons. She was a theam, Margery ! 
lUit she does n't sit there with her young men 
when I am at scluiol, nor when I am helping 
Ah Foy in the dining-room, nor, of course, 
when we are eating our meals. She sits there 
from four to six in the afternoon and after sup- 
per, the only times I have with mama in this 
room. We have to keep the window closed, 
lest we should overhear the conversation. That 
is tiresome enough in warm weather. You see 
the other windows are shaded by the fig-trees, so 
here we sit, in Egyptian darkness, mama and I, 
during most of the pleasant afternoons. And if 
anything ever came of it we would n't mind, but 
nothing ever does. There have been so many 
young men, — I could n't begin to count them, 
but they have worn out the seats of four chairs, 
— and why does n't one of them take her away? 
Then we could have a nice, homely young lady 
who would sit quietly on the front steps with 
the old people, and who would n't want me to 
carry messages for her three times a day." 

At the present moment, however. Miss Anita 
Ferguson (clad in a black habit, with a white 
rose in her button-hole, and a neat black derby 
with a scarf of white crepe de chine wound about 
it) had gone on the Mesa for a horseback ride, 
so Polly and Margery had borrowed the cozy 
comer for a chat. 

Margery was crocheting a baby's afghan, and 
Polly was almost obscured by a rumpled yellow 
dress which lay in her lap. 

" You observe my favorite yellow gown ? " 
she asked. 

" Yes, what have you done to it ? " 

" Gin Sing picked blackberries in the colan- 
der. I, supposing the said colander to be a pan 
with the usual bottom, took it in my lap and 
held it for an hour while I sorted the berries. 
Result : a hideous stain a foot and a half in 
diameter. Mr. Greenwood suggested oxalic 
acid. I applied it and removed both the stain 
and the dress in the following complete man- 
ner " ; and Polly put her brilliant head through 
an immense circular hole in the front breadth 
of the skirt. 

"It 's hopeless, is n't it? — for, of course, a 
patch won't look well," said Margery. 



"Hopeless? Not a bit. You see this pretty 
yellow-and-white-striped lawn ? I have made 
this long, narrow apron of it, and ruffled it all 
round. I pin it to my waist thus, and the hole 
is covered. But still it looks like an apron, and 
how do I contrive to throw the public off the 
scent ? I add a yoke and sash of the striped 
lawn, and people see simply a combination- 
dress. I do the designing and my beloved little 
mother there will do the sewing ; forgetting her 
precious Polly's carelessness in making the hole, 
and remembering only her cleverness in cover- 
ing it." 

" Capital ! " said Margery; " it will be prettier 
than ever. Oh, dear ! that dress was new when 
we had our last lovely summer in the canon. 
Shall we ever go again, all together, I wonder ? 
Just think how we are all scattered. The Win- 
ships traveling in Europe (I '11 read you Bell's 
last letter by and by) ; Geoffrey Strong studying 
at Leipsic ; Jack Howard at Harvard, with 
Elsie and her mother watching over him at 
Cambridge ; Philip and I on the ranch as usual, 
and you here. We 're so scattered that it 
does n't seem possible that we can ever have 
a complete reunion, does it ? " 

" No," said Polly, looking dreamily at the 
humming-birds hovering over the honeysuckle ; 
" and if we should, everything would be differ- 
ent. Bless dear old Bell's heart I What a good 
time she must be having ; I wonder what she 
will do." 

" Do ? " echoed Margery, 

" Yes ; it always seemed to me that Bell Win- 
ship would do something in the world ; that she 
would never go along placidly like other girls, 
she has so many talents." 

" Yes ; but so long as they have plenty of 
money. Dr. and Mrs. Winship would probably 
never encourage her in doing anything." 

" It would be all the better if she could do 
something because she loved it, and with no 
thought of earning a living by it. Is n't it odd 
that I who most need the talents should have 
fewer than any one of our dear little group ? 
Bell can write, sing, dance, or do anything else 
in fact ; Elsie can play like an angel ; you can 
draw ; but it seems to me I can do nothing 
well enough to earn money by it ; and that 's 
what I must do." 



12 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Nov. 



" You 've never had any special instruction, 
Polly, dear, else you could sing as well as Bell, 
or play as well as Elsie." 

" Well, I must soon decide. Mama says next 
summer, when I am seventeen, she will try to 
spend a year in San Francisco and let me study 
regularly for some profession. The question is, 
what? — or whether to do something without 
study. I read in a magazine the other day that 
there are now three hundred (or three thousand, 
I can't remember which) vocations open to 
women. If it were even three hundred I could 
certainly choose one to my liking, and there 
would be two hundred and ninety-nine left over 
for the other girls. Mrs. Weeks is tr}-ing to raise 
silkworms. That would be rather nice, because 
the worms would be silent partners in the busi- 
ness and do most of the work." 

" But you want something without any risks, 
you know," said Margery sagely. " You would 
have to buy ground for the silkworms, and 
plant the mulberries, and then a swarm of hor- 
rid insects might happen along and devour the 
plants before the worms began spinning." 

" ' Competition is the life of trade,' " said 
Polly. " No, that is n't what I mean — ' Nothing 
venture, nothing have,' that 's it. Then how 
would hens do ? Ever so many women raise 
hens." 

" Hens have diseases, and they never lay 
very well when you have to sell the eggs. By 
the way, Clarence Jones, who sings in the 
choir, — you know the man with the pink 
cheeks and corn-silk hair, — advertises in the 
Daily Press for a ' live partner.' Now, there 's 
a chance on an established hen-ranch, if he 
does n't demand capital or experience." 

" It 's a better chance for Miss Ferguson. 
But she does n't like Mr. Jones, because when 
he comes to call his coat-pockets are always 
bulging with tin cans of a hen- food that he has 
just invented. The other evening, when he 
came to see her, she was out, and he handed me 
his card. It had a picture and advertisement 
of 'The Royal Dish-faced Berkshire Pig' on it; 
and I 'm sure, by her expression when she saw 
it. that she will never be his ' live partner.' No, 
I don't think I '11 have an out-of-door occupa- 
tion, it 's so trying to the complexion. Now, 
how about millinery ? I could be an apprentice, 



and gradually rise until I imported everything 
direct from Paris". 

" But, Polly," objected Marger)-, " you know 
you never could tie a bow, nor even put a 
ribbon on your sailor hat." 

" But I could learn. Do you suppose all the 
milliners were called to their work by a con- 
sciousness of genius ? Perish the thought ! If 
that were true there would n't be so many 
hideous hats in the shop windows. However, 
I don't pine for millinery ; it 's always a strug- 
gle for me to wear a hat myself" 

" You 've done beautifully the last year or 
two, dear, and you 've reaped the reward of 
virtue, for you 've scarcely a freckle left." 

" Oh, that is n't hats," rejoined Polly, " that 's 
the law of compensation. When I was younger, 
and did n't take the boarders so much to heart, 
I had freckles given to me for a cross; but the 
moment I grew old enough to see the boarders 
in their true light and note their effect on 
mama, the freckles disappeared. Now, here 's 
an idea. I might make a freckle lotion for 
a living. Let me see what I 've been ad- 
vised by elderly ladies to use in past years : 
ammonia, lemon-juice, cucumbers, morning- 
dew, milk, pork rinds, kerosene, and a few other 
household remedies. Of course I 'm not sure 
which did the work, but why could n't I mix 
them all in equal parts, — if they would mix, you 
know, and let those stay out that would n't, — 
and call it the ' Olivera Complexion Lotion ' ? 
The trade-mark could be a cucumber, a lemon, 
and a morning dewdrop, rampant, and a fright- 
ened little brown spot coiuhant. Then on the 
neat label pasted on the bottles above the 
trade-mark there could be a picture of a 
spotted girl, — that 's Miss Oliver before using 
her lotion, — and a copy of my last photo- 
graph, — that 's Miss Oliver radiant in beauty 
after using her lotion." 

Margery laughed, as she generally did at 
Polly's nonsense. 

" That sounds very attractive, but if you are 
anxious for an elegant and dignified occupation 
which shall restore your mother to her ancestral 
position, it certainly has its defects." 

" I know every thing has its defects, every 
thing except one, and I won't believe that has 
a single weak point." 



rOLI.Y OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



13 



"Oh, Polly, you tlcccivcr! Vou liavc a secret 
leaning toward some particular thing after all ! " 

" Yes ; though I have n't talked it over fully 
yet, even with mama lest she should think it 
one of my wild schemes; but Margery, 1 want 
with all my heart to be a kindergartner like 
Miss Mary Denison. 1 run in and stay half 
an hour with her whenever I can, and help the 
little children with their sewing or weaving, and 
I always study and work better myself after- 
ward — I don't know whether it 's the children, 
or Miss Denison, or the place, or all three. 
And the other day, when I was excused from 
my examinations, I stayed the whole morning 
in the kindergarten. When it was time for the 
games, and they were all on the circle, they 
began with a quiet httle play they call ' Silent 
Greeting,' and oh ! Margery, they chose me to 
come in, of their own accord ! When I walked 
into the circle to greet that smallest Walker 
baby my heart beat like a trip-hammer, I was 
so afraid I should do something wrong, and 
they would never ask me in again. Then we 
played ' The Hen and Chickens,' and after- 
ward something about the 'birds in the green- 
wood ' ; and one of the birds flew to me (I was 
a tree, you know, a whispering elm tree), and 
built its nest in my branches, and then I 
smoothed its feathers and sang to it as the 
others had done, and it was like heaven ! After 
the play was over, we modeled clay birds ; and 
just as we were making the tables tidy, Pro- 
fessor Hohlweg came in and asked Miss Deni- 
son to come into the large hall to play for the 
marching, as the music-teacher was absent. 
Then what did Miss Denison do but turn to 
me and say, * Miss Oliver, you get on so nicely 
with the children, would you mind telling them 
some little stor)' for me ? I shall be gone only 
ten or fifteen minutes.' Oh ! Margery, it was 
awful ! I was more frightened than when 
I was asked to come into the circle; but the 
children clapped their hands and cried, 'Yes! 
yes ! tell us a story ! ' I could only think of 
'The Hen that Hatched Ducks,' but I sat 
down and began, and, as I talked, I took my 
little clay bird and molded it into a hen, so 
that they would look at me whether they lis- 
tened or not. Of course, one of the big seven- 
year-old boys began to whisper and be rest- 



less, Init 1 handed him a large lump of clay 
and asked him to make a nest and some eggs 
for my hen, and that soon absorbed his atten- 
tion. They listened so nicely — you could n't 
believe how nicely they listened ! When I fin- 
ished 1 looked at the clock. It had been nine 
minutes, and I could n't think what to do the 
other dreadful minutes till Miss Denison should 
come back. At last my eye fell on the black- 
board, and that gave me an idea. I drew a 
hen's beak and then a duck's — a hen's foot 
and then a duck's, to show them the difference. 
Just then Miss Denison came in softly, and I 
confess I was bursting with pride and delight. 
There was the blackboard with the sketches 
(not very good ones, it is true), the clay hen, 
and nest, and eggs, and all the children sitting 
quietly in their Httle red chairs. And Miss 
Denison said, ' How charming of you to carr)- 
out the idea of the morning so nicely ! My 
dear little girl, you were made for this sort of 
thing, did you know it ? " 

"Well, I should n't think you had patience 
enough for any sort of teaching," said Margery, 
candidly. 

" Neither did I suppose so myself, and I 
have n't any patience to spare, — that is, for 
boarders, or dishes, or beds; but I love chil- 
dren so dearly that they never try my patience 
as other things do." 

" You have had the play side of the kinder- 
garten, Polly, while Miss Denison had the care. 
There must be a work-a-day side to it ; I 'm sure 
Miss Denison very often looks tired to death." 

" Of course ! " cried Polly. " I know it 's hard 
work ; but who cares whether a thing is hard or 
not, if one loves it ? I don't mind work — I only 
mind working at something I dislike and can 
never learn to like. Why, Margery, at the Sun- 
day-school picnics you go off" in the broiling sun 
and sit on a camp-chair and sketch, while I play 
Fox and Geese with the children, and each of us 
pities the other and thinks she must be dying 
with heat. It 's just the difference between us ! 
You carry your easel and stool and paint-boxes 
and umbrella up the steepest hill, and never mind 
if your back aches ; I bend over Miss Deni- 
son's children with their drawing or building, 
and never think of my back-ache — do you 
see ?" 



H 



rOLI.V OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



" Yes; but I always keep up my spirits by 
thinking that though I may be tired and dis- 
couraged, it is worth while because it is Art I 
am working at ; and for the sake of being an 
artist I ought to be willing to endure anything. 
You would n't have that feeling to inspire and 
help you." 

" I should like to know why I would n't," ex- 
claimed Polly, with flashing eyes. "I should 
like to know why kindergarten-teaching may 
not be an art. I confess I don't know exactly 
what an artist is, or rather what the dictionary 
definition of art is ; but sit down in Miss Burke's 
room at the college; you can't stay there half an 
hour without thinking that, rather than have her 
teach you anything, you would be an ignorant 
little cannibal on a desert island ! She does n't 
know how, and there is nothing beautiful about 
it. But look at Miss Denison ! When she comes 
into her kindergarten it is like the sunrise, and 
she makes everything blossom that she touches. 
It is all so simple and sweet that it seems as if 
anybody could do it; but when you try it you 
find that it is quite difierent. Whether she plays 
or sings or talks or works with the children, it is 
perfect. * It all seems so easy when you do it,' 
I said to her yesterday, and she pointed to the 
quotation for the day in her calendar. It was 
a sentence from George MacDonald : ' Ease is 
the lovely result of forgotten toil.' Now it 
may be that Miss Mary Denison is only an 
angel ; but I think that she 's an artist." 

" On second thoughts, perhaps you are right 
in your meaning of the word, though it does n't 
follow that all kindergartners are artists." 

" No ; nor that all the painters are," retorted 
Polly. " Think of that poor Miss Thomas in 
your outdoor class. Last week, when you 
were sketching the cow in front of tlie old barn, 
I sat behind her for half an hour. Her barn 
grew softer and softer and her cow harder and 
harder, till when she finished the barn looked 
as if it were molded in jelly and the cow as if 
it were carved in red sandstone." 

" She ought not to be allowed to paint," said 
Margery, decisively. 

"Of course she oughtn't! That's just what I 

( To be continued. ) 



ep 



say ; anil I ought not to ])c allowed to ke 
boarders, and I won't ! " 

" I must say you have wonderful courage, 
Polly. It seems so natural and easy for you 
to strike out for yourself in a new line that it 
must be you feel a sense of power and that you 
will be successful." 

Polly's manner changed abruptly as she 
glanced in at her mother's empty chair before 
she replied. 

" Courage ! Sometimes I think I have n't a 
morsel. I am a gilded sham. My knees trem- 
ble whenever I think of my future 'career,' as I 
call it. Mama thinks me filled with a burning 
desire for a wider sjihere of action, and so I am, 
but chiefly for her sake. Courage? There 's no- 
thing like having a blessed tired little mother 
to take care of — a mother whom you want to 
snatch from the jaws of a horrible fate. That 's 
a trifle strong, but it 's dramatic! You see, 
Margery, a woman like my mother is not going 
to remain forever in her present rank in her 
profession — she is too superior; she is bound 
to rise. Now-, what would become of her if 
she rose ? Why, first, she would keep a country 
hotel, and sit on the front piazza in a red rocker, 
and chat with the commercial travelers; and 
then she would become the head of a summer 
resort, with a billiard-room and a bowling-alley. 
I must be self-supporting, and ' I will never de- 
sert Mr. Micawber,' so I shall make beds and 
dust in Hotel Number One, and in Hotel 
Number Two entertain the guests with my 
music and my 'sprightly manners' — that 's 
what Mr. Greenwood calls them ! Finally I 
should marry the ninepin-man or the head clerk, 
so as to consolidate the management and save 
salaries — and there would end the annals of 
the Olivers! No, Margery !" cried Polly, wav- 
ing the shears in the air, " everybody is down 
on the beach, and I can make tlie welkin ring if 
I like, so hear me : 

"The boarders must go! — How, when, and 
where they shall go are three problems I have n't 
yet solved ; and what I shall find to take the 
])lace of them when they do go is a fourth prob- 
lem, and the knottiest one of all ! " 



A HALLOW H'HN FROLIC. 



By Helen Gray C(1ne. 




A LITTLE witch in steeple hat 
Once tried a merry spell, 

To make the hares come pit-a-pat 
From dingle and from dell. 

And pit-a-pat, beneath the moon. 
The shy hares peeping came ; 

The little witch in buckled shoon, 
She called them each by name. 



"Come, 'Fairy-foot' and 'Sparkle-eyes'! 
Come, 'Fine-ear,' 'Bob,' and 'Bun'!" 
They gathered round in mild surprise, 
But glad of any fun. 

And when she told them what she willed, 
They stamped and leaped in glee, 

And all their velvet noses thrilled 
With laughter strange to see. 



What was the prank, do you suppose, 
And what the merry spell ? — 

The sleepy owlet only knows, 
And she would never tell ! 




Most country boys, I fancy, know the marsh- 
hawk. It is he you see flying low over the 
fields, beating about bushes and marshes and 
dipping over the fences, with his attention di- 
rected to the ground beneath him. He is a cat 
on wings. He keeps so low that the birds and 
mice do not see him till he is fairly upon them. 
The hen-hawk swoops down upon the meadow- 
mouse from his position high in air, or from the 
top of a dead tree ; but the marsh-hawk stalks 
him and comes suddenly upon him from over 
the fence, or from behind a low bush or tuft of 
grass. He is nearly as large as the hen-hawk, 
but has a much longer tail. When I was a 
boy I used to call him the long-tailed hawk. 
The male is a bluish slate-color; the female a 
reddish brown like the hen-hawk, with a white 
rump. 

Unlike the other hawks, they nest on the 
ground in low, thick marshy places. For sev- 
eral seasons a pair have nested in a bushy marsh 
a few miles back of me, near the house of a 
farmer friend of mine, who has a keen eye for 



the wild life about him. Two years ago 
he found the nest, but when I got over 
to see it the next week, it had been 
robbed, probably by some boys in the 
'->' neighborhood. The past season, in 
April or May, by watching the mother bird, 
he found the nest again. It was in a marshy 
place, several acres in extent, in the bottom 
of a valley, and thickly grown with hardback, 
prickly-ash, smilax, and other low thorny bushes. 
My friend brought me to the brink of a low 
hill, and pointed out to me in the marsh below 
us, as nearly as he could, just where the nest 
was located. Then we crossed the pasture, 
entered upon the marsh, and made our way 
cautiously toward it. The wild thorny growths, 
waist-high, had to be carefully dealt with. As 
we neared the spot I used my eyes the best I 
could, but I did not see the hawk till she sprang 
into the air not ten yards away from us. She 
went screaming upward, and was soon sailing in 
a circle far above us. There, on a coarse mat- 
ting of twigs and weeds, lay five snow-white 
eggs, a little more than half as large as hen's 
eggs. My companion said the male hawk 
would probably soon appear and join the fe- 
male, but he did not. She kept drifting away 
to the east, and was soon gone from our sight. 

We soon withdrew and secreted ourselves 
behind the stone wall, in hopes of seeing the 
mother hawk return. She appeared in the dis- 
tance, but seemed to know she was being 
watched, and kept away. About ten days later 
we made another visit to the nest. An adven- 



A YOUM; MAKSIl-ll AWK. 



17 



turous young Chicago l.uly nho wanted to sec air is calculatctl to make one a little nervout^. 

a hawk's nest, and so accompanied us. This It is such a fearful incline down which the bird 

time three of the eggs were hatched, and as the comes, and she is aiming exactly toward your 

mother hawk si)rang up, either by accident or eye. When within about thirty feet of you 

intentionally, she threw two of the young hawks she turns upward with a rushing sound, and 

some feet from the nest. She rose up and mounting higher falls toward you again. She 

screamed angrilv. Then, turning toward us, she is only firing blank cartridges, as it were; but 




Tlll£ MAKSH-HAWK. 



came like an arrow straight at the young lady, a it usually has the desired effect, and beats off 

bright plume in whose hat probably drew her the enemy. 

fire. The damsel gathered up her skirts about After we had inspected the young hawks, a 

her and beat a hasty retreat. Hawks were not neighbor of my friend offered to conduct us 

so pretty as she thought they were. A large to a quail's nest. Anything in the shape of a 

hawk launched at one's face from high in the nest is always welcome, it is such a mystery. 
Vol. XX.— 2. 



i8 



A YOUNG MARSH -HAWK. 



[Nov. 



such a center of interest and affection, and, if 
upon the ground, is usually something so dainty 
and exquisite amid the natural wreckage and 
confusion. A ground nest seems so exposed, 
too, that it always gives a little thrill of plea- 
surable surprise to see the group of frail eggs 
resting there behind so slight a barrier. I will 
walk a long distance any day just to see a song- 
sparrow's nest amid the stubble or under a tuft 
of grass. It is a jewel in a rosette of jewels, with 
a frill of weeds or turf A quail's nest I had 
never seen, and to be shown one within the 
hunting-ground of this murderous hawk would 
be a double pleasure. Such a quiet, secluded, 
grass-grown highway as we moved along was 
itself a rare treat. Sequestered was the word 
that the little valley suggested, and peace the 
feeling the road evoked. The farmer, whose 
fields lay about us, half grown with weeds 
and bushes, evidently did not make stir or 
noise enough to disturb anything. Beside 
this rustic highway, bounded by old mossy 
stone walls, and within a stone's throw of the 



the mottled brown i)lumage of the sitting bird. 
Then we approached her cautiously till we bent 
above her. 

She never moved a feather. 

Then I put my cane down in the brush be- 
hind her. We wanted to see the eggs, yet did 
not want rudely to disturb the sitting hen. 

She would not move. 

Then I put down my hand within a few 
inches of her; still she kept her place. Should 
we have to lift her off bodily ? 

Then Miss E — put down her hand, proba- 
bly the prettiest and the whitest hand the 
quail had ever seen. At least it startled her, 
and off she sprang, uncovering such a crowded 
nest of eggs as I had never before beheld. 
Twenty-one of them ! a ring or disk of white 
like a china tea-saucer. You could not help 
saying how pretty, how cunning, like baby hen's 
eggs, as if the bird w^as playing at sitting as 
children play at housekeeping. 

If I had known how crowded her nest was, 
I should not have dared disturb her, for fear 




A NEST OF YOUNG QUAIL. 



farmer's bam, the quail had made her nest. It she would break some of them. But not an 

was just under the edge of a pro.strate thorn-bush, egg .suffered harm by her sudden flight; and 

" The nest is right there," said the farmer, no harm came to the nest afterward. Every 

l)au.sing within ten feet of it, and pointing to the egg hatched, I was told, and the litde chicks, 

spot with his stick. hardly bigger than bumblebees, were led away 

In a moment or two we could make out by the mother into the fields. 



i89«l 



A YOUNG MARSH-HAWK. 



19 



In about a week I paid another visit to the 
hawk's nest. The eggs were all hatched, and 
the mother-bird was hovering near. I shall 
never forget the curious expression of those 
young hawks sitting there on the ground. The 
expression was not one of youth, but of extreme 
age. Such an ancient, infirm look as they had — 
the sharp, dark, and shrunken look about the 
fiice and eyes, and their feeble, tottering mo- 
tions ! They sat upon their elbows and the 
hind part of their bodies, and their pale, 
withered legs and feet extended before them 
in the most helpless fashion. Their angular 
bodies were covered with a pale yellowish 
down, like that of a chicken ; their heads had 
a plucked, seedy appearance ; and their long, 
strong, naked wings hung down by their sides 
till they touched the ground : power and feroc- 
ity in the first rude draught, shorn of every- 
thing but its sinister ugliness. Another curious 
thing was the gradation of the young in size; 
they tapered down regularly from the first to 
the fifth, as if there had been, as probably there 
was, an interval of a day or two between the 
hatching of each. 

The two older ones showed some signs of 
fear on our approach, and one of them threw 
himself upon his back, and put up his impotent 
legs, and glared at us with open beak. The two 
smaller ones regarded us not at all. 

Neither of the parent birds appeared during 
our stay. 

When I visited the nest again, eight or ten 
days later, the birds were much grown, but of as 
marked a difference in size as before, and with 
the same look of extreme old age — old age in 
men of the aquiline type, nose and chin com- 
ing together, and eyes large and sunken. They 
now glared upon us with a wild, savage look, 
and opened their beaks threateningly. 

The next week, when my friend visited the 
nest, the larger of the hawks fought him sav- 
agely. But one of the brood, probably the last 
to hatch, had made but Uttle growth. It ap- 
peared to be on the point of starvation. The 
mother hawk (for the male seemed to have dis- 
appeared) had doubtless found her family too 
large for her, and was deliberately allowing one 
of the number to perish ; or did the larger and 
stronger young devour all the food before the 



weaker member could obtain any ? Probably 
this was the case. 

Arthur brought the feeble nestling away, and 
the same day my little boy got it and brought 
it home, wrapped in a woolen rag. It was 
clearly a starved bantling. It cried feebly, but 
would not lift up its head. 

We first poured some warm milk down its 
throat, which soon revived it, so that it would 
swallow small bits of flesh. In a day or two 
we had it eating ravenously, and its growth 
became noticeable. Its voice had the sharp 
whistling character of that of its parents, and 
was stilled only when the bird was asleep. We 
made a pen for it, about a yard square, in one 
end of the study, covering the floor with several 
thicknesses of newspapers ; and here, upon a bit 
of brown woolen blanket for a nest, the hawk 
waxed strong day by day. An uglier-looking 
pet, tested by all the rules we usually apply to 
such things, would have been hard to find. 
There he would sit upon his elbows, his helpless 
feet out in front of him, his great featherless 
wings touching the floor, and shrilly cry for 
more food. For a time we gave him water 
daily from a stylograph-pen filler, but the water 
he evidently did not need or relish. Fresh 
meat, and plenty of it, was his demand. And 
we soon discovered that he liked game, such as 
mice, squirrels, birds, much better than butcher's 
meat. 

Then began a lively campaign on the part of 
my little boy against all the vermin and small 
game in the neighborhood to keep the hawk sup- 
plied. He trapped and he hunted, he enlisted 
his mates in his service, he even robbed the cats 
to feed the hawk. His usefulness as a boy of 
all work was seriously impaired. " Where is 

J ?" "Gone after a squirrel for his hawk." 

And often the day would be half gone before 
his hunt was successful. The premises were 
very soon cleared of nuts, and the vicinity of 
chipmunks and squirrels. Farther and farther 
he was compelled to hunt the surrounding farms 
and woods to keep up with the demands of the 
hawk. By the time the hawk was ready to fly 
he had consumed twenty-one chipmunks, four- 
teen red squirrels, sixteen mice, and twelve Eng- 
lish sparrows, besides a lot of butcher's meat. 

His plumage very soon began to show^ itself, 



20 



A YOUNG MARSH -HAWK. 



[Nov. 



crowding oft" tufts of the down. The (juills on 
his great wings sprouted and grew apace. 

What a ragged, uncanny appearance he pre- 
sented ! but his look of extreme age gradually 
became modified. What a lover of the sun- 
Hght he was ! We would put him out upon the 
grass in the full blaze of the morning sun, and 
he would spread his wings and bask in it with 
the most intense enjoyment. In the nest the 
young must be exposed to the full power of the 
midday sun during our first heated terms in 
June and July, the thermometer often going up 
to 93 or 95 degrees, so that sunshine seemed 
to be a need of his nature. He liked the rain 
equally well, and when put out in a shower 
would sit down and take it as if every drop 
did him good. 

His legs developed nearly as slowly as his 
wings. He could not stand steadily upon them 
till about ten days before he was ready to fly. 
The talons were limp and feeble. When we 
came with food he would hobble along toward 
us like the worst kind of a cripple, dropping 
and moving his wings, and treading upon his 
legs from the foot back to the elbow, the foot 
remaining closed and useless. Like a baby 
learning to stand, he made many trials before 
he succeeded. He would rise up on his trem- 
bling legs only to fall back again. 

One day, in the summer-house, I saw him for 
the first time stand for a moment squarely upon 
his legs with the feet fully spread beneath them. 
He looked about him as if the world suddenly 
wore a new aspect. 

His plumage now grew quite rapidly. One 
red squirrel per day, chopijed fine with an ax, 
was his ration. He began to hold his game 
with his foot while he tore it. The study was 
full of his shed down. His dark-brown mot- 
tled plumage began to grow beautiful. The 
wings drooped a little, but gradually he got con- 
trol of them and held them in place. 

It was now the 20th of July; and the hawk 
was about five weeks old. In a day or two 
he was walking or jumping about the ground. 
He chose a ])osition under the edge of a Nor- 
way spruce, where he would sit for hours doz- 
ing, or looking out u])on the landscape. \\'hcn 
we brought him game he would advance to 
meet us with wings slightly lifted, and uttering 



a shrill cry. Toss him a mouse or sparrow, 
and he would seize it with one foot and hop 
off to his cover, where he would bend above 
it, spread his plumage, look this way and that, 
uttering all the time the most exultant and 
satisfied chuckle. 

About this time he began to practise striking 
with his talons, as an Indian boy might begin 
practising with his bow and arrow. He would 
strike at a dry leaf in the grass, or at a fallen 
apple, or at some imaginary object. He was 
learning the use of his weapons. His wings 
also — he seemed to feel them sj^routing from 
his shoulder. He would lift them straight up 
and hold them expanded, and they would seem 
to quiver with excitement. Every hour in the 
day he would do this. The pressure w-as be- 
ginning to center there. Then he would strike 
playfully at a leaf or a bit of wood, and keep 
his wings lifted. 

The next step was to spring into the air and 
beat his wings. He seemed now to be thinking 
entirely of his wings. They itched to be put to use. 

A day or two later he would leap and fly sev- 
eral feet. A pile of brush ten or twelve feet 
below the bank was easily reached. Here he 
would perch in true hawk fashion, to the bewil- 
derment and scandal of all the robins and cat- 
birds in the vicinity. Here he would dart his 
eye in all directions, turning his head over and 
glancing it up into the sky. 

He was now a lovely creature, fully fledged, 
and as tame as a kitten. But he was not a bit 
like a kitten in one respect — he could not bear 
to have you stroke or even touch his ])lumage. 
He had a horror of your hand, as if it would 
hopelessly defile him. But he would perch 
upon it, and allow you to carry him about. 

If a dog or cat appeared, he was ready to 
give battle instantly. He rushed up to a little 
dog one day, and struck him with his foot 
savagely. He was afraid of strangers, and of 
any unusual object. 

The last week in July he began to fly quite 
freely, and it was necessary to clip one of his 
wings. As the clipping embraced only the 
ends of his primaries, he .soon overcame the 
difliculty, and by carrying his broad, long tail 
more on that side, flew with considerable ease. 
He made longer and longer excursions into the 



i892.] 



A V()UX(; MARSll-llAW K. 



21 



surrounding fields ami vineyards, and ilid not after liini, he (ould not be ibmul, and we never 

always return. On such occasions we would saw him again. 

go finil him and fetch him back. We hoped hunger would soon drive him 

Late one rainy afternoon he tlew away into back, but we have had no clue to him from 

the vine\ard. and when, an hour later, 1 went tliat day to this. 





IIIIIIIIJIIII 



T]\e amateur tragedian 

So well Kis ar^uisK fei^ned^^lSMSJi 

He moved the wKole oreat audience i, i 

—Till not a 5ou}. remained 




THE WHITE CAVE. 



Bv William O. Stoddard. 



Chapter I. 

IN A STRANGE COUNTRY. 

It was as dark as 
a pocket ! A man 
could not have seen 
his hand before his 
face. Moreover, the 
silence was as com- 
plete as was the 
darkness, except that 
through it all there 
seemed to pour a single dull, vibrating mur- 
mur. It was like a far-off river of sound, and 
nobody could guess where it came from. The 
air was still and cool and close, and there was 
a damp, earthy smell. 

That was a weird, lonesome place for stand- 
ing still and listening, but at last there seemed 
to be a faint rustling, and a breathing, as if 
something was alive there and was moving 
around. Then there came a sharp, repeated 




" cHck," " click," and each click was followed 
by a little stream of bright blue sparks. Then 
there was a noise of blowing, and more sparks, 
and then a glow which grew brighter, until a 
hot blaze shot up, and it could be seen that 
a human hand was heaping dry sticks and bark 
upon the beginning of a fire in a rude kind of 
fireplace. 

Up streamed the growing blaze, brighter and 
brighter, and it threw a strong glare of red light 
upon the face and form of a man. He was 
tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, 
with long, thick, bushy red hair falling down 
to his shoulders, and with a great, tangled red 
beard which matched his hair and came down 
half-way to his waist. He wore a ragged check 
shirt, and a pair of trousers that looked as if 
they were, made of leather, but he had no shoes 
or stockings on his feet. 

There were a sheathed knife and a large 
revolver in the leather belt around his waist, 
and a rejjeating ritle lay on the ground in front 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



23 



of the lire — that is, nut on tlie ground, for it 
was rock insteatl of earth, anil the fireHght now 
scattered the darkness only to be stopped by 
walls of rock in all directions except one. The 
fireplace itself was only a crevice in a wall of 
rock, and all the other walls were ragged and 
broken. They were twenty feet or more apart, 
and the rock roof above was twenty feet from 
the floor, at the fireplace. In the one direction 
in which there was no wall at all, however, the 
roof slowly slanted up, and the floor gently 
slantetl dt)wn. In that direction the firelight 
shot out until it was lost in the darkness, but it 
was reflected from weird and wonderful figures. 

There were projecting white shapes here and 
there, rising right up from the floor. They were 
rounded and grooved and fluted, in strangely 
varied forms, and they seemed to stand up 
and point at other white shapes that reached 
down from the roof and pointed at them, and 
seemed to be trying to touch them. All in 
pure white they were, and the fire-glow danced 
and glittered among them until they looked as 
if they were dotted with polished jewels. It 
was not so, however; for, after all, they were 
nothing but stalactites and stalagmites, such as 
dripping water manufactures out of limestone 
in any place where it can work undisturbed 
for thousands of years. 

No doubt the man had seen it all before, and 
was used to it ; for he did not express any sur- 
prise or delight. He piled more fuel on the 
fire, and then he lighted one end of a long stick 
of resinous wood and picked up a basket. The 
air was warm enough already, so that he must 
have needed fire for some other reason. 

Glitter, flash, sparkle ! More and more splen- 
did grew that great, brilliant hall of whiteness, 
until the man returned from the other side, 
opposite the fireplace, with his basket full. It 
was full of coal, — full of fine, white, easy-kind- 
ling coal, such as belonged to that place and 
country. White coal burns just as well as black 
coal, but it is only to be found in some places. 
Putting it upon the fire diminished the glare, of 
course, until it could kindle up, and the man sat 
down upon the rock and waited. He looked 
at the fire and fanned the flame with a broad 
palm-leaf, while the smoke of it went up 
through the crevice in the rock. There was 



a draft there which grew stronger and drew 
well, so that soon he did not need to fan any 
more. 'I'hen he turned and stared out into the 
darkness, on the side where there was no wall 
and where the firelight was soon lost in gloom. 

There were no gray hairs upon the man's 
head, nor in his long beard and mustache. 
He could not have been of more than middle 
age, but his face was deep-lined, as if he had 
done a great deal of hard thinking. He was in 
robust health, but the lines upon his face seemed 
also to say that he had suffered much, and it 
was a very troubled face. He stared and stared 
into the darkness, and then he muttered in a 
deep tone of voice : 

"Vagabond! Hunted wolf! Wild beast! 
That 's what I am ! What on earth was this 
place made for ? What was it put here for ? 
Why was I such a fool as to come here ? " 

He turned and put on more coal, while the 
draft up the crevice in the rock grew stronger 
and carried off" the smoke more perfectly. It 
was a remarkable natural chimney, but there 
was no telling where it went to, or where or 
how all that smoke was going to get out into 
the world. 

" I was n't a bad young fellow," he said, as 
he poked the fire. " I was a fool, that 's all. 
Well, well, I 'l\ eat something. I 've got to eat, 
I suppose. Then I '11 go to work. But what 's 
the use of my working ? What good will it ever 
do me, or anybody else ? Well, there 's no use 
grumbling now. It has got to be done, whether 
I can tell why or not." 

He arose and went in the direction in which 
the roof slanted downward and the floor slanted 
upward. The walls narrowed also, and before 
he had walked many paces he could almost 
have reached up and touched the rock above 
his head. The floor was fairly smooth, although 
there were great seams in it, and here and there 
a stalactite had grown tlown until it had joined 
a stalagmite on the floor, making a beautiful 
white pillar. At the foot of one of these there 
was another basket, woven of strips of palm- 
leaf, and he picked it up, carried it to the fire, 
and took off its cover, remarking : 

" I must say that now and then I like a 
piece of broiled possum. Sometimes I don't 
like it, but just now I could eat almost any- 



24 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Nov. 



thing. I 11 have a possum broil. Humph I 
Cutlets ! " 

He pulled out some pieces of fresh meat, 
took up a long forked stick, put one of the 
pieces on the fork, and sat down before the fire 
to cook it. As the cooking went on, however, 
the sad look on his face softened and vanished. 

In that strange, vast, glittering white kitchen 
where he was broiling his possum cutlets, no- 



The scene they beheld was beautiful As 
far as the eye could reach, there were undulat- 
ing pasture-lands, unfenced, dotted with flocks 
of sheep and herds of cattle ; but what they were 
really interested in was near at hand. A large, 
two-story house of stone, with wings and a long 
rear addition, and with many outbuildings, 
stood upon a slight elevation. In front was a 
shaven lawn, ornamented here and there with 



^^ 







AI lilt L)!.N( 



body could have told whether it was to-day, 
or yesterday, or to-morrow, or morning, or 
noon, or night. But in another place, many 
miles away, it was about the middle of the 
forenoon. 

A six-mule team, hitched to a very well made, 
white-tilted wagon, had been halted upon a 
gently rising ground, and all around them, and 
behind and ahead of them, there was a wild 
medley of dogs, horses, and men. On the slope, 
below, there was another group, all on horse- 
back, — one large, dignified-looking man; one 
equally dignified and very fine-looking woman ; 
two boys of about fifteen, perhaps, and one girl 
younger than either of them. They were all gaz- 
ing back, as if at something they were leaving. 



.OES. (StE-: IM.ii 2-J.) 

trees, some of which were evergreens and shade- 
trees of other sorts, but there were also fig-trees 
and a kind of orange. Every side of the house, 
and each wing even, had a wide veranda. The 
windows had inner blinds and outer white- 
canvas hoods. There was an observatory on 
the roof. All around and near the house was 
a kind of Eden. Trees, fruits, vines, flowers, 
vegetables seemed to have found a place where 
they could grow and prosper in marvelous 
luxuriance. Graveled walks, arbors, vistas of 
shade and sunshine, made it all very beautiful. 
The house itself was built in a costly way, anil 
as if wealth and good taste had done all that 
they could for it, without and within. For all 
that, however, it was nothing but a farm-house. 



1893- 



TIIK WHITE CAVE. 



25 



All the grassy rolls aiul levels, for miles aiul 
miles arouml, were nothing but a great, fifty- 
thousand-acre sheep-farm. 

** Hugh," exclaimed one of the boys, holding 
in his somewhat restive horse, "'the Cirampians' 
is just beautiful ! " 

" It 's never prettier than it is about this 
time," said Hugh. " This fine, hot December 
weather makes everything come right out. I 
don't care, though ! I say, ho for the bush ! " 

He was a blue-eyed, strongly made young 
fellow, anil his fresh, bright face was all aglow 
with excitement. His companion was of about 
the same height, but somewhat slenderer. He 
was also dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a look 
of wiry toughness, and his face had a keen, 
inquiring, intelligent expression. 

The horse which carried the girl at tliat 
moment pushed forward between them. 

" Oh, Hugh ! " she exclaimed, " then for Eng- 
land ! I love ' the Grampians,' and I really want 
to see the bush, but then — England ! " 

" All right, Helen," responded the very digni- 
fied man, in a deep, full voice ; " you shall see 
the bush and the mountains, and then we are 
off for England. That 's settled ! " 

" Aunt Maude ! " said Helen, with even in- 
creasing eagerness, " how long are we to stay in 
the woods ? How many days will it be. Uncle 
Fred ? " 

" Why, Helen Gordon, you should not be so 
impatient — " 

" Perhaps two or three days, Helen. You 
will enjoy it, and the boys — " 

His horse cut off his answer by a sudden 
plunge. Aunt Maude's was also curveting spir- 
itedly. It seemed that even the quadrupeds 
felt the exhilaration of the air and scene. 

" Ah, but, Ned," said Hugh, " then you '11 be 
off for the United States, old fellow ! " 

" Hurrah for that, too," repHed Ned. " Father 
sent in his resignation months ago. He says 
he has played consul at Port Adelaide long 
enough. He wants to get back to where they 
don't have Fourth of July weather at Christ- 
mas. And so do I — but I must say this is 
great ! " 

One of the men near the wagon was just 
then remarking to his mates : 

" B'ys, it 's the grand picnic we 're goin' on. 



To think o' them tryin' to have a good time 
in the bush !" 

" Never you worrit your soul about Sir Fred- 
erick Parry," was the half-crusty response of 
another of - the men, " nor Leddy Maude, 
ayther. They know what they 're about." 

Perhaps they did, and her ladyship had said 
to her husband that very morning : 

" Indeed, Sir Frederick, if for nothing more, 
I am glad we are to make this excursion. I 
should hardly like to confess, in England, that 
I had lived here so long and had never so 
much as looked into the wilderness. And espe- 
cially when it comes almost at our very doors." 

" You will see it now, Maude," he replied, 
heartily. " I am glad everything is so entirely 
safe. No more black savages in the country ; 
no dangerous wild animals left ; no more bush- 
rangers; fine weather — we shall have a perfect 
picnic." 

This, therefore, w-as the treat anticipated by 
this excited, happy, jubilant party, who were 
looking back at " the Grampians " farm and 
farm-house. 

There came the sharp crack of a whip, and 
the mules leaned forward in their harness, while 
all the party on the slope wheeled their horses 
and dashed gaily past the wagon. Ahead of 
them all, laughing and shouting merrily to each 
other, rode Helen Gordon and the two boys. 
Her blue eyes were dancing with animation; 
her golden hair was fluttering loosely in the 
warm north wind blowing over the plain ; her 
healthy red cheeks were flushed. And Helen 
was a very pretty young English girl. 

"Hugh," said Ned, "look at her! One of 
these days she will be as splendid-looking as 
your mother is. She looks like her already." 

" Mother's hair is redder than Helen's is," 
said Hugh. " It 's as red as mine." As for 
Sir Frederick's, it was of a light brown, and 
closely cropped. He had gray eyes, a firm, 
strong mouth, and a clean-shaven face ; and he 
was particularly well dressed — for a picnic in 
the bush. 

The mule-driver shouted vigorously at his 
team, and the entire party passed on over the 
brow of the hill. At that very moment, away 
off in that other place, where there was no hot 
December sunshine, nor any wind, nor any 



26 



THE win IE CAVE. 



[Nov. 



voice but his own, the red-bearded man, sitting 
in front of his fire, held up his cutlet of pos- 
sum-meat, and said: 

" I think it 's done— Hullo! What 's that?" 

He turned his face quickly toward the dark 
part of the cave, and listened. 

Out of that vast, mysterious gloom and 
whiteness there came, all the while, the river 
of dull, muffled, roaring sound; but now it grew 
stronger for a moment. Something like a crash 
mingled with it, and that was followed by a re- 
verberation resembling the tones of a sonorous 
church-bell. 

" I must look out," he remarked, " or some 
day one of those things will fall on me, and 
make an end of me. Not that I 'd care much, 
but then — I must n't think of that. I declare, 
when a fellow is right down hungry, he can eat 
broiled possum-meat and enjoy it. I '11 eat 
all I can, and then go to work. First of all, 
though, I must go and get some water." 

He did not seem to have much kitchen fur- 
niture, but he owned an old rusty tin pail, and 
a coil of rope-cord that looked as if he might 
have braided it himself, out of some kind of 
bark fiber. He pulled the cord and pail out 
from among the white pillars where he kept 
his baskets. Then he lighted his torch-stick, 
and set off down the slope. Everything around 
him glittered and glimmered in the torch-light, 
as he walked along, but his bare feet made no 
noise upon the smooth, rocky floor. The de- 
scent was not steep, but the upward slant of 
the roof was more rapid, and so was the spread 
of the side walls. So the great dark cavern he 
was in grew more and more ghostly and 
solemn as he advanced. He walked on and 
on until, when he looked up, he could see 
only glistening white jjoints among the shad- 
ows overhead, while the roaring sound grew 
nearer and louder, and had in it something of 
da.shing and splashing. There were currents 
of air which made the torch flare and flicker, 
but they were not strong enough to blow it 
out. 

"A fellow ought to be .safe, away in here. 
But he is n't," remarked the man, once more 
looking up, and at that moment something 
white came flashing down. It looked like a 
streak of white for a half-seconc^ and then 



there was a crash, a bang, and the vast cavern 
rang again with the strange, bell-like noise. 
One of the largest stalactites of the roof had 
broken oft" and fallen to the floor, and now its 
main stem and several smaller fragments rolled 
and tumbled thunderously down the slope. 

" What a crash!" said the man, as if speaking 
to somebody. " It has gone down the chasm. 
If I had been under it, I 'd have been crunched 
like a beetle. There would have been the end 
of me. Well, nobody else knows where I am, 
anyhow; and I don't know, myself, what I am 
here for. It really would not make any difier- 
ence whether I am killed or not." 

About a minute after that, he stood still and 
held up his torch. He was standing upon the 
brink of an exceedingly grim kind of precipice. 
It was as if the rock floor under him had been 
broken off there. All before him was thick 
darkness, when he lay flat down upon the rock 
and lowered his pail by the rope; but, as he 
held out his torch, he could faindy see the 
foaming, tumbling surface of a torrent which 
poured swiftly along at the bottom of the 
chasm. 

"Almost a hundred feet of rope," he said 
to himself. " It 's good water after you 've got 
it, but nobody can say whether or not it has 
anything to do with the other river above 
ground. I don't care. No torch that I ever 
brought here would throw light enough to show 
me the other side of this gulf. I mean to make 
a big blaze some day, and see what it will 
bring to light out there. Now I must go 
back and get at my work." 

He was pulling up his roi)e and pail, hand 
over hand, while he was speaking. — And, dur- 
ing all this time, Sir Frederick Parry's six-mule 
team had been pushing merrily forward, with 
himself and Lady Maude riding a litde ahead 
of it. The dogs of the party were only three in 
number, and each of them was tugging vigor- 
ously against the cord by which the hand of 
a horseman held him back. Helen and Hugh 
and Ned were free, however, and they were 
cantering sharply some distance in advance 
of the rest. 

"We might see game ! " Hugh had said. 

They were all three glancing around among the 
trees and bushes, as they went, and it was plain 



1899] 



THE WIHTK CAVK. 



that each boy was trying to seem ti) ride easily 
while earning a heavy double-barreled gun. 

"Boys!" suddenly Helen all but scrtamed, 
"look there! " 

"Quick, Ned! " shoutetl Hugh, as he pulled 
hard upon his bridle. 

Ned's horse may have been the (juieter, for 
his gun was up first. 

" O, how cruel ! " cried Helen. " Shoot them ! " 

There was an old wagon-track, but not a 
road, and in the middle of the track, not many 
yards beyond her, lay the torn carcasses of 
several sheep, while over them snapped and 
snarled savagely nearly a dozen ferocious-look- 
ing animals. 

" Wolves ! " said Ned, as he fired. 

" Wild dogs ! " shuddered Helen. 

"Dingoes'" replied Hugh, as he fired both 
barrels of his gun. 

There were four gun reports, and these were 
followed quickly by the bang, bang, seven times, 
of a small revolver in the hand of Helen Gordon. 

" Frederick ! " exclaimed Lady Parry. 

" What is that ? Ride on ! Hurry ! " 

" B'ys ! " roared the driver of the mule team, 
" on with ye's ! Quick ! " 

Down came his long, cracking whip-lash over 
his unlucky mules; on dashed the mounted 
men; forward sprang the spirited horses which 
carried the baronet and his wife. — The first 
exciting adventure of that excursion party had 
come to them before they were two miles from 
" the Grampians " farm-house. 

Chapter II. 

THE PERILS OF THE BUSH. 

Sir Frederick's horse had gone forward 
with a great bound, at the sound of the firing, 
but he and Lady Maude drew rein side by side, 
a kw seconds later, at the spot where Hugh 
and Ned were trying to quiet their excited 
ponies. Helen's pony was behaving very well, 
but her revolver was empty. 

" O Aunt Maude ! " she cried. " I do hope 
I hit some of them ! " 

" I hope you did ! I 'm glad some of them 
were hit," replied Lady Maude, w'ith energy. 

Wolves, wild dogs, dingoes, whatever they 
were to be called, all had vanished except a 



27 

pair lying still among the torn and bleeding 
bodies of the baronet's lost sheep. Of course 
the boys had not aimed very well, and perhaps 
Helen had not really hit anything; but such a 
storm of leaden pellets had been sent that some 
of them had found their marks. 

"Dingoes!" growled Sir Frederick. "The 
worst enemies of sheep-farming ! " 

"Hugh," said Ned, looking down at the pair 
they had killed, " they 're savage-looking fel- 
lows. Are they ever dangerous ? " 

"They would be, if cornered," said Hugh, 
" but they 'd never come near a party like 
ours. They 're natural cowards ! " 

They were ugly-looking brutes, and Helen 
said so, pointing her empty revolver at them, 
while Aunt Maude pitied the poor, slaughtered 
sheep. Sir Frederick and his men did not say 
much, but they were evidently more than a lit- 
tle surprised and annoyed by the presence of so 
many dingoes so very near " the Grampians." 

The boys reloaded their guns before remount- 
ing the ponies, and Helen also filled all the 
seven chambers of her pretty silver-finished 
weapon. 

" I 've had target practice enough," she said, 
" and I mean to hit something else, while we 're 
in the bush." 

Her rosy face was aglow with a hunting-fever, 
and with courageous readiness for whatever 
might come. It made her uncle and aunt laugh 
to look at her, but Lady Maude remarked : 

" I think I shall carry a revolver, too. There 
is one in the strong box that is n't too large for 
me to carry." 

Everybody else seemed to be taking an in- 
creased interest in the excursion, including the 
three men, who had been almost pulled out of 
their saddles by the tugging of the dogs. 

In the cavern, meanwhile, the red-bearded 
man, after bringing his pail of water, had found 
a singular piece of work to do. He went in 
among the group of white pillars, and brought 
out a large red-clay crucible, rudely fashioned 
and very thoroughly fire-marked. He settled it 
down among the coals, and heaped them around 
it. He went again, and returned with a heavy 
leather bag, out of which he took something or 
other which he dropped, piece by piece, into 
the crucible. It was chiefly in small fragments 



28 



Tin: WHITE CAVE. 



[Nov. 



that were weighty, considering their size. When 
that was done, he went again and brought out 
a palm-leaf basket that was very heavy indeed, 
for it was full of fine, dusty, yellow sand. He 
poured it into a broken hollow in the rocky 
floor near the fire, and made several dents in its 
surface by pressing down into it a small piece 
of wood. Each dent was as large as two fin- 
gers of a man's hand, and he packed the dust 
hard around the stick, each time, so that the 
dents kept their shape after it was taken out. 

" There," he said, " the molds are ready. 
There 's a good fire, but there won't be any 
melting right away. It takes time for that. I 
think I will go out and look around." 

He poked the fire, put on more coal, peered 
into the crucible, and then he made a loose coil 
of his rope. The pail was still full of water, 
and he remarked : 

"That 's for Nig." 

He picked up his rifle, and went toward the 
pillars at the upper end of the cavern. There 
were not many of them, and before he got 
through and beyond them the roof was so low 
that his head almost touched it. Then it sloped 
lower and lower, and he had to stoop and then 
to creep. He crept along a sort of passage, 
such as is common among limestone rocks any- 
where, and it grew narrower, until it was little 
more than wide enough for a man of his size 
to pass easily. At this point a fit of caution 
seemed to seize him, and he paused, listening. 

" I can't help it," he said to himself; " I al- 
ways feel as if somebody were after me. I am 
hunted, too, sure enough; — and they have 
barely missed me, sometimes." 

He crept on again, listening and feeling his 
way in the darkness of that underground crev- 
ice. Probably he knew every inch of it, and, at 
last, he put out a hand and pushed sharjjly 
against something which fell back and let in a 
great glare of sunshine. 

" I am always glad," he said, " to see day- 
light, whenever I can. It is n't of much use 
to me, that I know of. I seem to belong 
underground." 

The exjjression of his face when he said that 
was sad, but it was also fierce and resentful. 
In a moment more he was out of the crevice, 
and was standing erect among some bushes, 



while on either side of him were what looked 
like huge tree-roots. The thing which he had 
pushed away to let him out was a big piece of 
bark, fitted in between two of those gnarled, 
bunchy roots. The bushes were thick, and 
there did not seem to be any path through 
them. He walked on cautiously for a few 
yards, to where they were thinner and more 
open, and then he looked up. 

" I always like to take a look at my mountain 
ash," he remarked. " They say some of its kind 
are larger, but I don't believe it." 

He had reason for such a doubt, for it was 
certainly a large tree. It was between sixty 
and seventy feet around, at the height of a 
man from its base. There was not a branch 
upon its massive trunk for over a hundred feet 
from the ground, but there they began, and the 
spreading crown of the forest monarch was 
lifted proudly up at a height of more than four 
hundred feet. It was a grand sentinel to stand 
at any man's door, even at the door of so strange 
a house as that in which this remarkable man 
had broiled his slices of possum. He was now 
standing in a hollow between the roots of the 
giant, and was peering cautiously in all direc- 
tions. All was dense forest, and there was a 
deep forest silence. He seemed to be satisfied 
that he was alone there, for he stepped out with 
his rifle and the coil of rope over his shoulder, 
and his pail of water in his hand. 

" Nig, first," he said. " I '11 keep an eye out 
after game, but I must n't waste any ammuni- 
tion, with so few cartridges left. Anyhow, I 
don't beHeve I 'm in any special danger just 
now. There is n't another living soul in all this 
part of the bush." 

That might be, but in another part of the 
bush Sir Frederick Parry was just recovering 
from a hearty fit of laughter. 

" Dingoes ? " he said. " She won't see any 
more of them ; but it 's good fun to see how she 
and the boys are hunting." 

" I believe we are really going to enjoy it," 
said his wife, " and so will they." 

" Of course they will," he replied. " Helen 's 
ready to shoot anything. Well, Maude, we 
can sail for England in January, just in our 
midsummer ; and we shall get there in April, 
and have summer weather all the way and after- 



«89».l 



Tin; wni'iT-: cavk. 



ward. Quite the longest summer you L-vor luul 
in your life. Then, if we are to come back here, 
and if we leave Englantl before Dctober, it will 
be two whole years of sunnner, with bits of 
spring and autumn." 

"1 don't care so much for that," said i,ady 
Maude, "but 1 hope we shall not lose ourselves 
in this wilderness." 

" There 's not the least danger of that," he 
replied confidently. " I know exactly what to 
do, and so do the men." 

Nevertheless, as they went along, the men 
were telling each other wild tales of what things 
had happened to e.xplorers of those endless 
forests and of the rugged mountain ranges. 
Even Helen and the boys, in spite of their keen 
lookout after game, were remembering and 
telUng all they had ever heard of adventures in 
that only half-discovered country. Ned, indeed, 
had more to say about American Indians and 
California gold-mines, while Hugh seemed to 
be especially well informed concerning the de- 
graded and merciless black cannibals of Aus- 
traUa, who were now nearly all gone. All three 
of these young folk, however, seemed to have 
heard and read a great deal about the old sys- 
tem of making that new land a state prison for 
English convicts. They told what dreadful fel- 
lows these were, and how many of them escaped 
into the " bush " and became veritable white 
savages — hardly less terrible than black-fellows 
themselves. 

It was really comforting to be able to assure 
one another that there were no wild men of any 
kind in all that part of the country, while it was 
said that the forests had now more game in them 
than ever before. 

" Get lost ? " remarked Hugh, contemptu- 
ously, in answer to a question of Helen's. 
" No, indeed ! Why, we could n't possibly get 
lost. Not such a party as ours, and going only 
a couple of days out from ' the Grampians.' 
Oh, but won't we have a good time ! " 

The whole party responded with a cheery 
shout, and Sir Frederick gave orders to get as 
far into the bush as possible before going into 
camp for the night. 

Whatever the red-bearded man in the cave 
had been doing, he had now returned and was 
once more standing in front of the fire. Beside 



29 

him, on the floor, lay a huge bird that looked 
something like an ostrich ; but he remarked of it: 

** Emu-meat is dry stuft. 1 'm glad 1 lassoed 
him ami did n't have to waste a cartridge. This 
and the rest- of the possum will be provisions 
enough to start with. I wish Nig were .shod, 
though, for he 's got a hard trijj to make. I 'm 
going to the gulch just this once, and I '11 bring 
back every ounce there is left. It 's a big risk 
to take, too, with those fellows on the watch 
for me." 

All the while, as he talked, he was i)oking in 
the crucible with a long iron rod. 

" Ready ! " he exclaimed at last. " I '11 finish 
this job, and then hurrah for the mountains ! 
I '11 be glad to live in the open air for a while." 

He took up a long, stout pole with a fork at 
one end. He shoved the fork in among the 
coals until it had a good hold of the crucible. 
Of course it caught fire, but he did not seem to 
mind that. He lifted the crucible and swung it 
around to the spot on the floor where he had 
made his sand molds. He tipped the nozle 
slowly over one of the molds, and a red, bril- 
liant, fiery stream of something liquid began to 
pour out. He filled one mold after another 
until the fluid ceased to run. 

" Five ! " he exclaimed. " About three pounds 
apiece. Now^, would n't that band of rascals 
over in the gulch have got a good haul if they 
had bagged me the last time I went ? Some 
of their bullets whizzed pretty close, too. They 
would give something to know where I left the 
rest of it, or when I 'm coming after it — the rob- 
bers ! Land pirates ! I got away that time, 
and Nig and I have only got to try it this 
once more. We can beat 'em. I '11 just let 
those slugs cool where they are. They may 
never be of any use, to me or anybody else, 
but I like them, somehow." 

In a few minutes more he was out in the 
open air. He carried a pail of water, and he 
had his rifle and his rope; but over his shoulder 
were also slung a saddle, bridle, saddle-bags, 
a bundle, and a long-handled spade. 

The bark door between the tree-roots had 
been closed with care, and only the sharpest 
eyes could have discovered any trace of his 
passage through the bushes. On he walked 
for about ten minutes, and then he came to 



30 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



an open, grassy place. All around it the trees 
and bushes grew thickly, luxuriantly, in a way 
to explain why it had been chosen both for a 
pasture lot and for a place to hide a horse in. 

There he was, nibbling busily at the grass, a 
large, strong-looking horse, very black, and in 
good working condition, for he was not by any 
means too fat. The approach of his master's 
feet was noiseless, so that he had no warning; 
but there came a shrill whistle from the edge 
of the bushes, and Nig knew it. He began 
to prance. 

" Glad I 've come, are you ? " said the man, 
as he drew nearer. " Well, you need n't be. 
I 've brought you another job through the 
mountains, with a heavy pack to bring back 
this way." 

Nig neighed again, as if he were quite will- 
ing, although it was getting somewhat late in 
the day. He was soon bridled and saddled 
and mounted. 

Nig and his master were just setting out upon 
their journey, wherever it was to take them. 
They were fresh and bright ; but that was more 
than could be said of six mules, who had been 
puUing a tilted wagon through forest ways, hour 
after hour, in all the heat of real December 
weather. They were not the only creatures who 
were feeling it, and one of the consequences 
was a succession of shrill cries, which began to 
sound through the silence of the forest. 

" Hugh!" exclaimed Ned, as he turned in his 
saddle and listened, " what 's that ? " 

"I heard it," said Hugh. " It means to come 
back. They 've halted." 

"Coo-ee-e! Coo-ee e! Coo-ee-e!" came the 
cries again, full and clear. 

" Don't you know ? " said Hugh. " That 's 
the call of the herdsmen. It 's the way they 
keep track of each other in the bush. You 
can hear it ever so far, and the sheep and 
cattle and horses know it." 

" Boys," said Helen, " we must go back. 
That was Uncle Fred's voice." 

They obeyed the call ; but neither they, 
nor the red-bearded cave man, nor anybody 



in all that part of the bush, could hear another 
set of calls, of much the same sort, which were 
sounding at the same time. They were sound- 
ing in an even wilder place, moreover; for it 
was as solitary, while instead of trees and shrub- 
bery there were rocks and ledges and dangerous- 
looking gullies. " Coo-ee-e " after " coo-ee-e " 
echoed among the quartz and granite masses, 
calling and answering each other, and then a 
group of half a dozen men gathered upon a 
gravelly level. They were a rugged and ragged 
and really savage-looking company, and, as 
they came together, one of them called out : 

" No, boys, we have n't found it yet; but we 
shall find it. It is hereabout, somewhere. Be- 
sides, he '11 be coming after it, and we shall get 
it then if we can't find it now." 

" His time 's about up, if he 's coming," re- 
plied another man. " Maybe he is n't far away 
now. We 'd better wait and watch for him, the 
next few days." 

" That 's so," said a hoarse and mocking 
voice, " and we must n't shoot too quick when 
we sight him." 

"Shoot? No; of course not," said the first 
speaker, with a laugh of wolfish cunning. " What 
we want is just to nab him. Then we can 
threaten him till he tells where he hid every 
ounce he took out of his gulch. First and 
last, he took out a heap, and it 's hid aw^ay 
somewhere." 

" Threaten him ? " said a big, hard-faced fel- 
low. "We '11 tie him to a sapling and soon 
make him tell all he knows." 

" What '11 we do then ? " asked another. 

"What? Why, find out if he 's told the 
truth; and if he has, and as soon as we 've 
bagged all his nuggets, all we 've got to do is 
to leave him tied there, if we like. That '11 be 
the end of the matter." 

The whole half-dozen growled a fierce, cruel 
growl of assent to that idea. They were angry 
at having hunted and waited long without suc- 
cess, and they looked more and more wolfish 
as they talked. And all the while Nig was 
bringing his master nearer and nearer. 



(To be continued.) 



INANIMATH THINGS ANIMATED. 



r.v r. Ni.wi I.I., 




VNHAPPV MR. wisH-noNE : " Why do people never see me, but they try to break my legs 




MR. COMB : "What 's the matter with that child? I 'm just wild with his howling! " 
MRS. COMB : " I think the little dear is beginning to cut his teeth." 



TWILIGHT. 



Bv Mary Thacher Higginson. 



A WEARY man sat lost in thought; 
The firelight sank beneath his look ; 
And shadows, by his fancy wrought, 
Soon lurked in every nook. 

A birdlike voice rang through the hall ; 
Two little feet danced down the stair; 
The fire leaped up at that blithe call, 
And gleamed on shining hair. 



" I am so glad," the gay song was; 
'• So glad," it echoed to and fro ; 
" I don't know why, unless because 
You are Papa, you know ! " 

Care fled before that sweet belief; 
The shadows melted quite away; 
The weary man forgot his grief, 
Forgot his hair was gray. 



UNCLE JACK'S GREAT RUN. 
By Tudor Jenks. 



Tell the story ? You know it all. 

'T was eighty-something, — in the fall. 

Nothing to nothing was the score, 

Till at last we had only five minutes more. 
" Steady, boys ! " was the captain's cry. 

And we lined up, ready to do or die. 
"Fifteen — twelve!" the signal came. 

And 't was mine to win or lose the game. 

Teddy, the " half-l)ack," passed the ball 
To me, and he almost let it fall ; 
But I gripped it, and the line gaped wide 
As our rushers flung their men aside. 



Then, in the twinkling of an eye, 
I saw their " tackle " rushing by 
To block the gap. 

I made a bend. 
And like a flash went round the end. 
Their " end-rush " grabbed, but I wriggled 

free. 
And away I went — two after me — 
For their goal. A good half-mile it seemed. 
I heard faint cheering as if I dreamed. 
I dodged their " back," and I crossed the 

line. 
I fell on the ball I — The game was* mine ! 



That's all. What? — Yes, there was one thing more. 
You 've all heard the story told before. 
You know that my chum's sister came 
To see the great Thanksgiving game. 
Her eyes and the ribbon she wore were blue, 
And I won the game — and Aunt Nelly, too. 
32 




"AND LIKE A FLASH WENT ROUND THE END." 
Vol. XX. — 3 33 





L.^U>J.> 



v/ 



Bv Felix Leigh. 



-'^(iU''^'-A^ 



A LONG time 
ago, in the 
country of 
Pastango- 
nia, there 
was once a 
Giant who 
was born 
very good- 
natured. 
As most 
giants are 
born ill- 
natured, 
this one was 
an exception to 
the general rule. 
Nothing pleased 
him more than to 
do kind actions. 
Of course all sorts 
of folks came from the 



regions round about to get the Giant to help them 
in various ways. Anybody who was too weak, or 
too cowardly, or too lazy to do something that 
he wanted to do, would seek an interview with 
the Giant, and forthwith proceed to pile all his 
responsibilities on the Giant's broad back. 

Well, one morning, just about cock-crow, a 
certain Prince rode up to the Giant's castle and 
gave a tremendous tug at the big castle bell. 
Then, as nobody answered, he kicked loudly 
at the postern-gate, and so aroused the Giant, 
who was a sound sleeper. 

When the Giant appeared on the threshold, 
rubbing his eyes and yawning, the Prince said 
crossly : " Well, I must say you keep me wait- 
ing very long, considering my rank! Do you 
call this sort of thing being good-natured ? " 

But the Giant pretended not to hear, and 
asked his visitor what he could have the plea- 
sure of doing for him, and invited him to climb 
up the audience-ladder and exjjlain his business. 

Then the Prince, regarding the Giant atten- 



tively, saw that he had a ladder of handsome 
embroidery running up his clothing from foot 
to shoulder, as a convenience for the public at 
large. Whereupon he climbed to the Giant's 
shoulder with great agility, and so found him- 
self on a level with the Giant's right ear. 

" Though I know I look every inch a king," 
he said, " you must n't suppose I a/// one ; for 
I have n't been crowned yet — thanks to the 
plottings of an unprincipled relative of mine. 
My uncle is a usurper, and he has stolen my 
kingdom from me." 

The Giant bowed so low that he almost top- 
pled his royal visitor from his shoulder. 

"Don't do that again!" said the Prince, 
whose front name was Tesso, and whose back 
name is of no consequence in a fairy tale ; " I 
can't bear a groveler. And now allow me to 
tell you what I want you to do. To begin with, 
I desire you to boil my wicked uncle in oil. 
Water would, of course, come cheaper, but I 
prefer to have him slowly simmered in oil, as 
a warning to others, you understand. Next I 
wish you to decimate the army which has 
backed up my unscrupulous relation in his ne- 
farious schemes. And, lastly, I '11 get you to 
take a stroll through my dominions, and tram- 
ple heavily on any of my rascally subjects who 
may come in your way, just to punish them for 
not having had spirit enough to cast oft" the yoke 
of the usurper. When you have done as I sug- 
gest, I can no doubt, without opposition, ascend 
the throne that is rightly mine. Have I your 
promise to aid me in the manner described ? " 

The Giant was a very slow thinker, and as 
he was accustomed to fall in with the views of 
all those who called upon him, he readily gave 
the desired promise, without pausing to look at 
the situation in all its bearings. 

" Very well," said Prince Tesso. " Then we 
had better start immediately for my dominions. 
Will you walk ? It will save time if you do so, 
and you can easily carry me with you." 

The obliging Giant, without more ado, at 



A C;iANT I\ I'KACMKNTS. 



once stuck the Prince in his hat biind, and then 
proceeded to place several bushels of oats and 
the Prince's steed in one of his coat 
pockets, while a plentiful supply 
of provisions for the journey 
went into the other jiocket. 

The Giant plodtled along 
steadily all day, but as 
the sun declined he grew 
more and more thought- 
ful. He was beginning 
to realize that he had 
acted foolishly, and 
that he was upon an 
errand which a Giant 
with a disposition like 
his own should not 
have rashly under- 
taken. 

When evening came, 
he and the Prince en- 
camped on the fringe 
of a wood of some ex- 
tent. The Giant ate a 
very poor supper — for 
a Giant — and present- 
ly turned to Prince 
Tesso, and said : 

"I don't, after all, 
quite like the idea of 
boiling your Royal 
Highness's uncle in oil, 
of destroying a number 
of presumably gallant 
warriors, and of crush- 
ing a still larger num- 
ber of simple citizens 
under my heels like 
so many beetles ; 
so if your Royal 
Highness will 
excuse me, I 
think I '11 turn 
back and walk 
home." 

Thereupon 
the Prince said 
severely that he 



35 

would be a dis- 



promisc he l)ad made, (jr hi 
graced (iiant for evermore. 

They argued the matter for some 
time, but the Prince was firm, 
and finally the Giant had 
to give up all hope of .shak- 
ing the royal resolution. 
But when the Prince 
had gone to sleep on a 
bed of dried leaves, the 
Giant stole off" through 
a shadowy avenue of 
the wood. He said 
to himself, " Perhaps 
the Fairy Flitella will 
be able to help me, if 
I can only find her." 

After a while, as he 
advanced, he heard a 
sound of elfin music, 
and to his great de- 
light perceived the lit- 
tle personage of whom 
he was in search seated 
upon a big pink toad- 
stool. As soon as she 
recognized the Giant, 
she put down her man- 
dolin, — an instrument 
contrived out of an 
acorn cup, with half 
a dozen strands of 
spider's web for strings, 
— and smiled him a 
gracious welcome. 
" You need not 
trouble to go into 
details," said the 
Fairy. " I know 
everything, and 
I know therefore 
what is troubling 
you. I always said 
that your good- 
nature and your 
stupidity, working 
together, would 
get you into a 

was n't going to permit the Giant to go back mess one of these days, you silly fellow; and 
on his word. He must fulfil to the letter the a nice dilemma you 're in at present, are n't 




HE CLIMBED TO THE GIANT S SHOULDER 



A GIANT IN FRAC.MENTS. 



(Nov. 




"'it appears to me,' said the fairv, 'that flight will be yolr best plan 



you ? As a good-natured Giant you can't boil 
a usuqjer in oil or any other liquid, and as a 
Giant of honor you can't break your spoken 
word. It appears to me that flight will be 
your best plan. Keep in hiding for a while, 
and perhaps Prince Tesso may change his mind, 
or his unboiled uncle may repent and make 
restitution, or — a thousand things may happen. 
So fly at once." 

But the Giant smilingly pointed out that flight 
was out of the question for an individual of his 
physical proportions, who could n't go rushing 
through any country without attracting univer- 
sal attention. 

" If I tried to escape in that manner," he said, 
" the Prince would at once be put upon my trail 
by some busybody, and then he would follow 
me up and insist upon keeping me to my fatal 
promise," 

Flitella was suddenly struck by a brilliant 
idea. 

" I am willing," she said, " if you desire it, to 
change you into ten men of less than ordinary 
height, and of commonplace appearance. If 
you will consent to disperse in fragments, your 
escape can, I think, be managed successfully." 

The Giant did n't altogether relish the no- 
tion of becoming ten ordinary dumpy mortals, 
for gianthood has its privileges, numerous and 



pleasant ones; but this was 
not a time to stick at trifles, 
so he begged the Fairy to 
eftect the transformation with 
all speed, and allow him to 
get clear of the neighbor- 
hood before the Prince 
awoke. 

Flitella produced a tiny 
pocket-wand which she al- 
ways carried about with her, 
flew briskly up to the Giant's 
chest, and with the wand 
tapped him lightly on the 
third button of his jerkin 
once — twice — thrice — four 
times — five times — six times 

— seven times — eight times 

— nine times — ten times I 
At the tenth tap there 

was audible a slight creak- 
ing sound, and the Giant fell all to pieces in 
a moment. Where he had reared his enor- 
mous bulk, ten funny litde men attired in cos- 
tumes not unlike the Giant's stood staring at 
one another very hard. 

" Oh-h-h ! " exclaimed the Giant's Frag- 
ments, contemptuously, " what a set of whip- 
persnappers we are ! " 

"You '11 soon get used to yourself — or 
rather to yourselves," said the Fairy, consol- 
ingly. " And now you 'd better get away, the 
lot of you, as soon as you can. When you 
want to resume your proper form, you have 
merely to utter the magic word ' Azziwaz,' and 
the change will immediately take place." 

The Giant, collectively and individually, 
thanked the Fairy for the trouble she had taken 
to serve him, and forthwith (]uitted the forest in 
sections, each portion going by a different route, 
and traveling with stealth and caution. 

But the Giant's Fragments, feeling lonely — 
which was but natural under the circumstances 
— took care to reassemble very shortly on the 
top of a high mountain a couple of leagues 
away. Then, taking council together, they 
decided that they would for a time roam the 
country together, depending on a supply of 
alms, which they hoped to collect by begging 
at the doors of the well-to-do inhabitants. 



1893. 



A GIANT IN I-KAGMENTS. 



37 



As the people of the regions thereabouts had laml), and she (hd not return. Everybody said 

never seen any tramps before, they behaved slie had been "earned away by the Warbilow." 

with extreme generosity to the ten travelers, Now, the Prinee knew no more than you 

giving them massive segments of stale apple- do what the Warbilow was; but when it was 

pie, cold potatoes, ami other delicacies to sus- reported that his Seena, whom he loved so 

tain them during their wanderings. dearly, had been abducted by such a creature, 







^^vA-> 





"ten funnv little men stood staring at one another." 



In the mean time the Prince had been gradu- 
ally sinking in the world. Abandoned by the 
Giant, he had given up his oil-boiling project 
and the rest of his plot against his wicked 
uncle, and had looked around him for a means 
of livelihood ; for he had no money whatever, 
and, what was worse still, no subjects upon 
whom he could levy taxes. 

In a few days he was compelled to sell his 
horse in order to raise funds, and then all his 
jewels and his fine clothing went by degrees, 
and he w-as at length driven to drop the orna- 
mental for the useful, and to hire himself out to 
a prosperous farmer for his board and lodging, 
and a few ducats a year. 

At first he would rail terribly at the Giant for 
betraying him ; but by degrees he forgot to do 
this, for he had fallen deeply in love with the 
farmer's daughter, and it seemed to him that to 
be near her was happiness greater than any he 
could have known as a king with a crown on his 
head and a boiled uncle on his conscience. 

Day by day he grew more reconciled to his 
lot, for the fair Seena returned his affection. 

•The two lovers became formally betrothed, 
and then a dreadful thing happened. Seena 
went out one afternoon to look for a stray 



he made haste to institute inquiries, and as 
Seena's father was at hand, it was he whom 
Prince Tesso proceeded to interrogate. 

"Who or what is the Warbilow?" said the 
Prince. 

" The Warbilow," replied the farmer, endea- 
voring to speak as calmly as an encyclopedia, 
" is the Dragon Bird of this kingdom, and he 
frequently carries people off to his cavern-nest 
in the center of the Cinder Desert. There he 
keeps them in his pantry until he is hungry, and 
then — " 

The Prince interrupted him by brandishing a 
pitchfork, and avowing his intention to pursue 
the Warbilow and rescue Seena at once. 

" It is useless," replied the old man, dolefully. 
" Everybody about here has good reason to 
believe the prophetic rhyme which has been 
handed down to us by our forefathers, and 
which runs as follows : 

" Till ten men who have once been one 
Shall cleave his heart in twain. 
The Warbilow unscathed shall go, 
And not by man be slain. 

" Many young men have attempted what you 
would attempt, but they all have perished, for, 
of course, they were not ' ten men who had 



A GIANT IN FRAGMENTS. 



[Nov. 



once been one,' and so the Warbilow was able 
to defeat and tear them to fragments. There is 
no hope for my unhappy daughter." 

Prince Tesso did not stay to contradict him. 
He simply set off, running his hardest, in the 
direction of the Cinder Desert. 

He ran on and on through the night. The 
moon set, and misty starlight darkness closed in 
upon him, but still he ran on, pursuing the path 
as best he might. So when day broke, he 
found himself on the confines of the Desert. 
Then he accidentally tripped over a large stone, 
and fell headlong into a small dell or hollow 
in which were encamped ten sturdy little 
vagabonds. 

These were, as you may guess, the Giant's 
Fragments, waiting, all ready, though they did n't 
know anything about it, to do a good turn for 
the Prince they were bent on avoiding; for, 
whether he liked it or not, the good-natured 
Giant was destined to be a good-natured Giant 
to the end of his days. A giant of this sort 
cannot hope to escape his fate by dodging 
about the country in ten pieces. 

When the Fragments of the Giant had re- 
covered from their astonishment, — and well 
might they feel surprised when they recognized 
Prince Tesso, — they inquired, in chorus, what 
the Prince meant by thrusting himself so un- 
ceremoniously into the company of honest 
travelers: who he was, whence he came, and 
whither he was going ? 

The Prince's heart was very full, so he freely 
told his story with what breath he had left in 
his body after his long run. He even repeated 
the ancient rhyme about the ten men who had 
once been one : 

"Till ten men who have once been one" — 

At this point the Fragments of the Giant 
might have been seen to scratch their ten pates 
and to stare into vacancy. They were think- 
ing, — thinking hard, — and it did n't come easily 
to them ; though, as ten heads are certainly bet- 
ter than one, it was probably a less difficult job 
for them than the Giant had found it in his un- 
divided day. 

" This is evidently a matter that requires our 
attention," they said, after some deliberation. 
"//<? can slay your Warbilow for you, your 



Royal Highness. Shall we slay the Warbilow 
for you, or shall we not ? If you really want 
the monster killed, we will undertake to put an 
end to him with punctuality and despatch — on 
one condition." 

" Name it," eagerly cried the Prince. 

" That you will release the good-natured 
Giant of Pastangonia from a rash promise he 
once made you. It had reference, we believe, 
to a — well, to a conspiracy, let us say, which 
you were hatching against your uncle." 

" I suppose the Giant is a friend of yours," 
said Prince Tesso, " or you would n't take such 
an interest in his affairs. But, anyhow, since 
you wish it, he can consider that I give him 
back his plighted word, though I really don't 
know what has become of the fellow." 

" To be sure you don't," gleefully chor- 
used the Fragments of the Giant, giving six 
large grins and four smaller ones ; " but that is 
of no consequence at all, — and so we had bet- 
ter be marching." 

The Giant's Fragments fell in behind one an- 
other in single file, while Prince Tesso took his 
place at the head of the invading force. He 
would n't on any account have walked in the 
rear, though he certainly felt a little ashamed 
of the pitchfork he had brought with him, and 
wished it had been a jewel-hilted rapier instead. 

Presently, as the procession moved across 
the Cinder Desert, there was heard a flapping 
of leathern wings and an angry screaming, and 
the Warbilow himself flew out into the open 
from behind a dense thicket of cactus which 
concealed the entrance to his nest. 

The combat which ensued was short and 
sharp. The Fragments of the Giant hacked 
away with a will with the swords they carried, 
attacking the Dragon Bird on all sides at once. 

In five minutes the fight was over, and the 
W^arbilow had spread out his enormous wings, 
and expired with gurglings which resembled a 
distant thunder-storm. 

Almost before life had left the body of the 
monster. Prince Tesso pushed his way through 
the cactus hedge. 

In the Dragon Bird's cavern he discovered 
his beloved Seena, pale with anxiety and fright, 
but (|uitc uninjured. 

"If you stay where you are, you will be lifted 



189a.] 



A GIANT IN FRAGMENTS. 



39 



over the cactus hedge," shouted the Ciiant's 
Fragments cheerily. 

They had sheathed their swortls and drawn 
themselves up in a line, and they now uttered, 
all together, the magic word "A/ziwaz." 

The spell worked as a practical spell should 
work, and on the instant there towered up be- 
fore the Prince and Seena, but on the other side 
of the hedge, the form of the good-natured Giant. 
He reached over the prickly barrier, and taking 
the lovers in one hand, drew them up and set 
them down safely on his own side of the thicket. 

" Your Royal Highness," said the Giant, 






been highly uncomfortable on a hard, high- 
backed throne, with a heavy crown on her 
(harming brow. 

So the Giant went straightway home to his 
castle, while the Prince and Seena returned to 
the farm, where Seena's aged parents met them 
with open arms. But, though he returned to 
the farm, Prince Tesso did not intend to follow 
agriculture as a calling for the future, as he saw 
a quicker path to wealth before him. 

He had the body of the dead Warbilow stuffed 
by a skilful taxidermist, and with it he made a 
tour of the principal towns of the kingdom, ex- 







/' 







;;vr^ 





xiwij 











,^M 



THE FIGHT WITH THE WARBILOW. 



politely, " you did well not to hold me to my 
promise, I think. If I have n't boiled your 
uncle, my Fragments have rescued your bride, 
and we are therefore more than quits." 

The Prince, besides being rather confounded 
in his mind by the sudden reappearance of 
the Giant, was too happy to argue the point; 
and, truth to tell, he did n't really any longer 
want anything unpleasant to happen to his 
wicked relative. His ideas had undergone a 
great change, and he was looking forward to 
living the serene life of a private citizen with his 
pretty Seena, who would, he well knew, have 



hibiting the monster to gaping and delighted 
crowds, and gathering in the ducats at the door. 
In this manner he speedily amassed a large for- 
tune, on which he and Seena lived happily ever 
afterward. 

As for the Giant, he continued to be as will- 
ing as in the old time to assist his humbler 
neighbors in Pastangonia, but there his good- 
nature drew a line, for he had a board painted 
with great black letters as long as his arm, 
which he hung out on his battlements, and all 
who passed by read the legend on this board : 

" NO PRINCES NEED APPLY." 




THE SIREN. 



By Henry Bacon. 



It was proposed to give a concert for the 
benefit of the ship\vrecked. 

All seconded the proposition with enthusi- 
asm, because, since early morning when we 
had picked up the half-dead boat-load, noth- 
ing but "the shipwrecked" had been talked 
about among the passengers on board "La 
Bretagne." Yes, early that morning there had 
been a great commotion aboard our steamer. 

Everybody had tumbled up on deck at a 
much earlier hour than usual, because of the 
word that had been passed from the lookout 
to the captain's bridge, and had somehow 
quickly descended into the passengers' cabin, 
that, in the distance, straight ahead, was an 
open boat flying a signal of distress. And 
that boat-load had been safely got aboard, 
and was now comfortably stowed away in the 
cabins. The doctor had reported that they 
were out of danger, and, as he said, " All do- 
ing well." 

These unfortunates had belonged to a small 
trading-schooner from Nova Scotia bound for 
the Bermudas, " loaded with fresh eggs and po- 
tatoes," so they told us. A gale had carried 
the vessel far east, out of its course, and, as the 
schooner sprang a leak, those on board were 
obliged to abandon the vessel. The crew had 
left their schooner in two boats ; one of them 
we had found, and, although the doctor had re- 
ported "all doing well," some of the passengers 
thought he was mistaken. They thought he 
was mistaken because among the rescued was 



a woman, and somehow, in leaving the sinking 
vessel, this woman and her boy had been sepa- 
rated. Her boy had been carried off in the 
other boat, and she would not be comforted. 
Some of our women passengers had taken her 
under their care, supplied her with a change of 
clothing, and brought her into the first-class 
cabin. They had done all that was possible to 
comfort her, and tried to assure "the mother," 
as we called her, that, as the storm was over 
and the missing boat was directly in the track 
of the ocean steamers, it would certainly be 
picked up soon, if it had not already been 
found. They declared that she was certain to 
have news of her boy as soon as we entered 
New York harbor. 

But she would not be comforted. There she 
lay in the comer of the cabin, quiet and sub- 
missive, replying to questions in a soft voice — 
almost a whisper — but with wild, tearless eyes. 
Surely the knowing ones were right when they 
shook their heads and said : " She is not 
' doing well.'" 

But the concert. Dinner was over, and we 
were gathered in the saloon. The program was 
a good one, for we had a number of profes- 
sional musicians aboard; and the music, instru- 
mental and vocal, was very enjoyable. During 
the last few hours a dense fog had enveloped 
the ship, and the "siren," or steam fog-horn, 
on the foremast blew every thirty seconds. 
It made an ugly noise — a long screech, that 
could l)e heard many rods through the fog. 



THE SIRKN. 



41 



It was to warn oilur ^hips out of our course, times, but especially so at night, as one lies in 
It soundcil odd in tlie cabin, at times in ac- his berth; for it is a danger-signal. But it is 
coril, but oftener in discord, with the music, strange how soon one becomes accustomed to 




"the FIKST man up the ladder had in his arms a WELL-WRAl'PED BUNDLE" 



and sometimes breaking in upon it in a very danger. Even the siren cannot keej) us awake, 
comical manner. if it docs scream like a maniac while the steamer 

The sound of the siren is disagreeable at all goes plowing through the waves. 



42 



THE SIREN. 



[Nov. 



The program of the concert went on until we 
came to a song one of my friends was singing, 
and singing well. During this song I noticed 
that "the mother," who had been lying list- 
lessly against the cushions in the corner, ap- 
parently heedless of what was going on, started 
and sat up suddenly. She pushed her tliick 
black hair back of her ears, and, staring at the 
singer, she listened intently. You all know the 
song, perhaps have put it aside long ago la- 
beled " chestnut " ; but you should hear my 
friend Walter sing it some dark night on the 
ocean, with the hoarse voice of the siren as 
an accompaniment: 

" Rocked in the cradle of the deep, 
I lay me down in peace to sleep." 



Siren. "On- 



-ho- 



-on. 



" Secure I rest upon the wave, 
For thou, O Lord, hast power to save ! " 



Siren. "On- 



-ho- 



The siren continued; it did not stop, as usual; 
and we all started, forgetting the singer, who 
in turn forgot to sing. 

Then the sound of the commandant's bell 
joined the voice of the siren. 

'* Ding." The engines stopped. 

" Ding." The engines were reversed. 

There was one mad rush for the deck, "the 
mother " leading. 

Then I knew she had not been listening to 
Walt's song, but that her anxious ears, keener 
than ours, must have heard the lookout's horn 
— the horn he blows, as he stands in the ex- 
treme bow, to notify the officer on the bridge 
that he has discovered something — a ship, 
iceberg or land — in the distance. 

On deck there was a rushing to and fro, the 
shrill notes of the bo's'n's w'histle, and a group 
of sailors already lowering a boat. 

We soon learned that there had not been an 
accident — that the ship was not going down, 
but that a light had been seen, and was sup- 
posed to belong to some small craft adrift. 

We leaned over the rail and peered into the 
darkness, shading our eyes, as we did so, from 
the lights on board. Nothing was to be seen 
in the inky blackness — only the strange sensa- 
tion that the intense darkness was in motion. 



" There it is ! " cried a passenger near me. 

" Where ? Where ? " 

"There! — almost astern." 

Yes, now I could see it — a small light, a 
mere dot, swinging violently. 

Now it was gone, and again it appeared, 
somewhat dimmer, but still swinging. 

Again the shrill, authoritative bo's'n's whistle, 
more shouts of command, and our boat is off, 
with six men at the oars, an officer at the tiller, 
and a man in the bow swinging a lantern. 

We could see quite distinctly, now that our 
eyes had become accustomed to the darkness. 
Never was there a crowd more silent than that 
which leaned over the steamer's rail, watching 
and waiting. No one dared even to whisper 
to his neighbor, fearing to miss the slightest 
sound from the deep. Our boat went rapidly 
astern, and we could see the swinging of the 
lantern each time it rose upon a wave. The 
lanterns were approaching; they stopped swing- 
ing; now they were together, and over the 
water we could distinguish a faint cry of joy. 
And what a shout went up in reply from 
those on board our steamer! Men, women, 
and children, French, Spanish, and Americans, 
burst forth in one prolonged, glad shout, that 
was not drowned by the siren as it joined in 
the rejoicing. 

No one had questioned, no one on board 
had doubted, who were in the wandering boat; 
but when ours came back into sight again, w^e 
cheered it, and when we heard an answering 
cheer from the water, echoing our voices, we 
cheered again and again. The stray boat had 
been abandoned after cutting a hole with an 
ax through the bottom ; for it was not worth 
the time and trouble of saving, and the crew 
had been taken on board the steamer's boat, 
that soon came under our lee. 

How we crowded to get near the ladder, and 
how we strained our eyes in the semi-darkness, 
as we leaned over the rail, to di.scover what 
was aboard ! 

Yes, we all expected just what happened. 
The first man up the ladder had in his arms a 
well-wrapped bundle. None of us asked what 
he carried, nor did " the mother," ready to re- 
ceive the burden. All had made way for her, 
as if it were her right to stand nearest the 



■ 897 



THE SIREN. 



43 



gangway; aiul as slic snatched the l)un(lle 
from the sailor, there came out of it a little 
pair of arms tliat encircled the woman's 
neck. 

Then we lost our interest in the rest of the 
saved ; there was a great deal of trouble hoist- 
ing them on board, as they were weak ; but we 
did not care much — they were saved, that was 
enough for us. Our chief interest was in the 
boy. 

The concert had been forgotten ; the smok- 
ing-room was packed after we were under way 
once more, and each and all had a theory to 
expound how those two boats could have 
drifted so far apart. Some declared they had 
encountered different winds; others insisted it 
was due to ocean currents. 

Walter and I left the smoking-room with the 
theories about the winds and currents still pro- 
gressing, and went into the saloon. The occu- 
pants, mostly women, sat in groups upon the 
sofas, talking in undertones. Why? I asked 
myself; but, looking across the cabin, I easily 
understood, for there lay "the mother" with 



the l)oy, his head upon her shoulder, and both 
were fast asleep. 

Some thoughtful one had carefully covered 
them with a rug, and had moved up a chair 
filled with cushions to prevent them from rolling 
off the sofa. The boy's face was hidden, but 
the mother's could be seen, although turned 
away; there was a smile upon her lips. On the 
piano was the music, open as it had been left 
when the concert had been so abruptly inter- 
rupted by the siren, an hour before. Walter sat 
down before the piano, touched the keys of the 
instrument gently, and in a low voice sang, 
slightly changing the original: 

" I knew Thou would'st not slight my call, 
For Thou did'st mark the sparrow's fall ; 
And calm and peaceful is my sleep, 
Rocked in the cradle of the deep." 

When Walter ceased, I am sure, excepting 
the sleepers, there were no dry eyes in the Bre- 
tagne's cabin. And the siren, still sounding, for 
we were on " the Banks," had changed its note. 
It was no longer moaning, for it had gone up an 
octave higher, and was rejoicing boisterously. 




^M 




.^1%^^^^^^ 








ROFESSOR PIKE- 
STAFFE, Ph. D., 

While wandering over 
land and sea, 

Once on the plains of 
Timbuctoo 

Met a giraffe. 

" Why, how d'ye 
do ! " 

Exclaimed the amiable Pikestaffe. 
" I 'm really charmed, my dear Giraffe! 
I 've thought so much of you of late, 
Our meeting seems a stroke of Fate 
Particularly fortunate. 
I long have had upon my mind 
Something concerning you ; be kind 



Enough to seat yourself and pray 
Excuse, if what I have to say 
Seems personal ! " 





"^ 



" My dear Pikestaffe, 
I shall be charmed," said the Giraffe, 

" 1 o hear whatever you may say. 
You are too kind ; go on, I pray." 



"Well, then," said Pikestaffe, "to 

resume. 
You are aware, sir, I presume. 
That though with your long neck 

at ease 
You crop the leaves upon the 

trees. 
Your legs are quite foo long, and 

make 
It difficult for you to slake 
Your thirst — in other words, 

you 've found 
Your neck too short to reach the 

ground. 
Indeed, I 've often wept to think 
How hard it is for you to drink. 



TiiK t;i;()Mi;rRic.\i. ciraffe. 



45 



To right a wronj; wc must, of course, 
First try to ascertain the source; 
And in this case we find the cause 
In certain geometric laws, 
Which I will tjuickly demonstrate 
(How lucky that 1 brought my slate I). 

Well, to begin, let line A B 




Then R'syour head stretched ilown, and siiows 

How fixr the ground lies from your nose — 

Though if the ground lay not at B, 

But R, you 'd reach it easily. 

Suppose it then at R to lie, 

And draw for ground line 1) R I. 

Your head then touches ground at R — 

But now your feet go down too far I 

My compasses then 1 will lay 

On A and B, and make round A 

A circle crossing line D I 

At two points. Mark them X and Y; 

Then draw from X and Y to A 

Two lines; then it is safe to say 

That line A X and line A Y 

Ecjual A B, />ei//g radii 

Of the same circle, as you see 

(According to geometry). 

But since at first we did agree 

A B your length of leg should be. 

These, being equal to A B, 

Are just the same as legs, you see. 

So now on legs A X, A Y, 

You stand upon the ground D I, 

And drink your fill ; for, as I said, 

D I is touched by R, your head. 

Thus we have proved — " 



Be your front legs; then line A C 
(A shorter line) your neck shall be. 
Measured, 't will only reach so far. 
When bent down toward the ground, as R. 



What happened here 
Professor Pikestaffe has no clear 
Impression, but the little row 
Of stars above will serve to show 




cr/IC^ 



46 



THE GEOMETRICAL GIRAFFE. 




What madly reeled before his eyes, 

As he went whirling to the skies. 

Below he heard a mocking laugh, 

That seemed to come from the Giraffe : 

Go up ! go up ! You 've proved enough ; 

You 've proved geometry is stuff! 

You 've proved, till I am well nigh dead, 

And feel a thumping in my head. 

That I must spread my feet apart 

To take a drink — why, bless your heart! 



I knew that long ere you were bom. 
I laugh geometry to scorn." 



Professor Pikestaffe, Ph. D., 

They say, has drojjijed geometry — 

It seems he dropped his slate as well. 

Which lies exactly where it fell 

(Also the diagram he drew) 

Upon the plains of Timbuctoo, 




WIXTl'lR AT THE ZOO. 



By Elizabeth F, Bonsall, 




\ 






*t. 



HE Zoo, on a winter 
day, wears a very dif- 
ferent aspect from that 
which it presents during 
the summer months when 
so many people find it a 
source of pleasure and 
profit. And yet it has its 
charms, too ; it is a great 
mistake to imagine that in winter the animals 
are asleep most of the time, and that it is use- 
less to go to the zoological gardens then be- 
cause there will be but deserted cages and 
empty ponds to look at. 

For those who truly love animals, and wish 
to study their habits, there is no better time to 
visit the Zoo than a day in winter. The absence 
of the noisy crowd makes the animals quite at 
their ease, and by standing a few minutes per- 
fectly still before the cage they seem to forget 
your presence, and you can observe their habits 
at leisure. 

I noticed this particularly one winter's day as 
I was sketching in the bird-house; the snow 
was falling fast outside, but the brilliant plum- 
age of the cockatoos, macaws, and parrots, with 
a summer temperature, would have made any 
one forget the storm and imagine one's self in 
the tropics. 

Presently I began to separate the different 
voices from the general clamor which had 
greeted my advent, and to trace them to their 
owners. How curious the result was 1 A plain 
bird with greenish feathers and a yellow bill 
had a cry that I could Hken to nothing but 
a child's tin cart being drawn rapidly over a 
gravel walk, ending up with a long-drawn 
squeak. Then a parrot would say, "Hello!" 
in a surprised tone, or some bird at the other 
end of the building would charm one with his 



whistle. How few people pause long enough to 
hear any of this concert ! 

And how funny the parrots and cockatoos 
can be when they are not all begging the visi- 
tors for peanuts ! One cockatoo devoted her- 
self to having some fun with her dish of water; 
she took hold of the edge nearest to her, and, 
lifting it, dropped it suddenly as if to enjoy see- 
ing the water splash. Of course the returning 
wave washed over on her feet, and it was very 
funny to see how she stepped back, and looked 
sideways, first at her toes and then at the dish, 
as if to say, "Why! how did that happen?" 
After an interval of thought she tried it again, 
and, profiting by experience, proudly stepped 
to one side when the water came her way, and 
so succeeded in her attempt to empty the dish 
without wetting her feet. 

Some of them are troubled with a queer dis- 
ease which makes them eat their feathers off, 
and you may imagine the comical eftect of 




POLLV IS NOT FEELING WELL. 



these poor birds as they sit shivering on the 
perch with perhaps only their gorgeous head- 
and tail-feathers on ; but it never seems to make 



48 



WINTER AT THE ZOO. 



[Nov. 




"the tiger will GA2E INTENTLY AT THE 
SNOWV LANDSCAPE." 

one bit of difference to their friends in the 
cage. They are not like those foolish human 
beings who judge people by their clothes. 

A very amusing crow lives in captivity here. 
He was brought in when he was very young, 
and has since picked up quite a vocabulary 
from the visitors and the birds around him. It 



" good " that made the remark seem conde- 
scending. 

With the first cool nights of autumn, prepara- 
tions are begun for making the tropical animals 
and birds comfortable during our hard winter. 

A curious cage on wheels is brought out, and 
into this the animal is coaxed by the kindly 
persuasion of a carrot or other favorite article 
of food) and then drawn comfortably to its win- 
ter quarters. This is always an exciting time 
for the children : they run along by the side of 
the cage and watch with the greatest eagerness 
the process of placing the box in position ; and 
when the final opening of the door liberates 
the frightened beast, the yells and shrieks 
which greet its entrance to its winter lodging 
are enough to give it nervous fidgets. The 
gnu, although it has passed many ^vinters and 
summers in the garden, grows very much ex- 
cited at such times; and if it could get out I 
think it would make great havoc among its 
small tormentors. 

I do not think that the lions and tigers no- 
tice much difference between summer and win- 
ter. Of course they do not have the summer 
cages with their rocks and trees to range in ; 
but their house is warm, and plants and run- 
ning fountain do their best to hide the dismal 
fact that it is winter. Sometimes a tiger will 
sit motionless for a long time gazing intently 
through the windows at the snowy landscape. 
Do you think he ever wonders what can change 
the color of the outer world so completely ? 

The cage of the young lions seems almost 
too small to hold them all when they are play- 




YOUNC LION ASLEEP. 



was strange to hear his gruff voice answering ing together with wooden balls, like cannon- 
the familiar "Hello!" of the parrots with balls, which go banging from one end of the 
"Well, good-by," with an emphasis on the cage to the other, or are gnawed by the lions. 



1892-1 



WINTKK AT TllK /jn). 



49 



But wait until fatigued by their 
l>lay and violent exercise, they 
drop off to sleep ; the space is 
large enough then for the lions 
to throw themselves into the 
most amusing attitudes. There 
is one sprawling on his back, his 
legs flung wide in the air as you 
have seen tired babies lie; and 
here another, dreaming of the 
play, twitches his legs as if he 
were springing in his sleep to 
catch the vagrant ball. 

Very dignified and stately 
are the old lion and lioness, and 
the lions in the next cage, who 
wait patiently, with grave faces, 
for the one event in their long 
day — their meal-time. Although 
the fare is never varied summer 
or winter, it is always acceptable; 
indeed the only thing they ob- 
ject to is the amount, which 
apparently is never equal to their 
appetites. 

The keeper seems to agree 
with some doctors that liquids 



,v VV 




■■' "x" 



■^iSk. 




^.% 





should never be drunk during a meal, 
for the animals are not served with 
water until the bones are scraped and 
polished by their rough tongues, and 
even the floor licked clean; then the 
keeper goes around with a watering- 
pot and tin pans, filling for each in 
turn until all are satisfied. One of 
the tigers always puts her mouth to 
the spout and laps from the stream 
as it falls, seeming to think it tastes 
fresher taken in that way than wiien 
lapped from the pan below\ 

Some of the animals take care of 
themselves at the approach of the 
winter. The badgers dig frantically in 
the earth, throwing up a perfect foun- 
tain of sand behind them until they 
have long burrows, to which they retire 
on cold or stormy days; but every 



Vol. XX. — 4. 



50 



WINTKK AT THE ZOO. 



[Nov. 




MEAL-TIME. 



gleam of sunshine woos them to the surface, 
and they run up and down the cage begging 
for peanuts, as in summer. One of them has 
a cunning trick that he taught 
himself; on reaching the end of 
the cage he turns a half somer- 
sault, rolls to one side and rises 
faced right for the return trip. 
This rarely fails to win a reward 
from the admiring visitor. 

The beavers go to sleep in 
their huts under the water, and 
the foxes and prairie-dogs dig 
their burrows deeper and retire 
from the upper world, although, 
like the badger, they reappear on suqny days 

One sees some of the animals to a better ad 



vantage in winter than in summer; the moose 
and the reindeer seem more lively, and, I think, 
would be glad to have it colder than it ever 




A SLEEPING LIONESS. 



is in this latitude. The frozen, snow-covered 
stretches of Canada and Lapland are more to 




S9-'l 



WINTKK Al" 11 IK /.<)<). 



51 





- . . -.-<p.V 



■ /// .. 



■X V 



V\ 






Tllli RILI.NDEER. 



their liking than the yards of the Zoo, even on 
the coldest days. 

The reindeer came all the way across the 
seas, accompanied by his mate and little one, 
with a great bag of their favorite moss to 
supply them with food until they should have 
become accustomed to American hay and pea- 
nuts. The taste for pea- 
nuts seems soon to fas- 
ten itself upon every 
creature that enters the 
gates, except the flesh- 
eating animals; and in 
a short time the reindeer 
came pressing their soft 
noses through the bars to 
beg for peanuts quite as 
eagerly as the monkeys. 

The polar bear is an- 
other who does not find 
it quite cold enough to 
suit him; he has an ice- 
water bath and a den 
in the north side of a 
hill, but he still looks as 
if he were longing for 
more snow, and I think 
that nothing would really 

content him but a cave ~ 

in an iceberg. Perhaps, 

if one were to introduce him to the seal-ponds, 
he might find himself in congenial company. 



at least; but it miglit 
happen that the seals 
would not care for him 
as a guest. They are 
a haj)py family among 
themselves, and sit with 
their heads poked up 
through the ice, calling 
for their dinner with 
quite as much appetite 
as in summer. 

The lake for water- 
fowl is not as crowded 
with inhabitants as we 
are accustomed to see 
it, many having been 
sheltered in buildings; 
but it still presents a 
lively appearance with swans and ducks of all 
varieties disporting themselves in the little space 
of water kej^t open for them. They never seem 
to feel their toes grow cold, however long 
they stand on the ice or swim in the water. 
Some of the ducks from China look as if 
they had wrapped themselves up in red flan- 




THE I'Ol.AK UKAR. 



nel to protect their legs and heads from 
rheumatism; but I shall have to let you into 



5-' 



WINTER AT THE ZOO. 



[Nov. 







IN THE REPTILE-HOUSE. 



the secret that this is their summer dress as 
well ; they have, poor things, only one suit for 
the entire year! 

There is one building where perpetual sum- 
mer reigns. On the coldest of January days the 
new reptile-house is filled with blooming plants 
and sunshine, the roof of the house is made partly 
of glass like a conservatory, and there stand the 
glass cases for the tropical snakes. Trees and 
plants grow in the soil at the bottom, there is 
water to bathe in, and the sun pours down upon 
the cases all day long, so they have natural 
heat besides the artificial heat in the buildinc;. 



long at least, is brought from his outside pond 
and jnit into this tank to si)en(l the winter. He 
is a model of patience, and allows the little 
turtles and alligators to form pyramids on his 
back without a protest ; but then he goes sound 
asleep at the beginning and never rouses until 
spring comes, so maybe he does not even feel 
them. 

The little alligators are more lively, and do 
not get on very well with the snakes, with whom 
they are sometimes placed. 

I once saw a very funny combat between a 
baby alligator and a tiny snake. Quite a num- 
ber of both were in a glass tank provided with 
a small pond, rocks, and growing plants. You 
would have thought it a perfect nursery for the 
babies to grow and be happy in. 

But while this thought was passing through 
my mind I saw an alligator make a sudden snap 
as a little snake was slipping over him, and in 
a moment the poor little thing found his head 





WHICH WINS : 



In the center is the alligator- and turtle-tank, 
surrounded by palms. One old alligator, si.\ feet 



MAKING THEMSELVES COMFdRTABLE. 

held tight between the needle-like teeth of the 
alligator. Wriggle and twist as he might, he 
could not get away. In vain he tried to choke 
his enemy by closely 
encircling his neck ; the 
alligator held his head 
perfectly rigid, and fin- 
ally shut his eyes with 
an air of self-satisfaction, 
as if it were a most 
ordinary thing for him 
to have a snake tying 
double bowknots around 
his neck. 

After a long time, 

either because he forgot 

his prize and yielded to a desire to yawn, or 

because he thought the presumption of the 



i89i.] 



WINTER AT THE ZOO. 



53 





snake in crawling over him had been suffi- 
ciently punished, the baby alligator opened his 
jaws, and away went the snake, seemingly none 
the worse for his adventure. 

The monkeys ought to have just such a 
sunny home as this, 
and I hope that some 
day it will be built for 
them. Now they have a 
roomy yet rather dark 
building, but they play 
their merry pranks, steal 
peanuts, and chase each 
other around the cages 
without the least envy 
of the palace of the 
snakes so close by. They 
all seem to have very 
happy dispositions, and 
are cheerful amid any 
surroundings. 

Quite a contrast to 
them is the melancholy 
Indian adjutant, who is 
very much of a misan- 
thrope. Hour after hour 
he stands meditating in 
the pan of water given 
him to supply the want 



THE INDIAN ADJUTANT. 

of his summer wading-place; his head is 
sunk in a great ruff of feathers, which gives 
him the appearance of shrugging his shoulders. 
The only thing that seems to disturb his rev- 
erie is the quarreling of his neighbors the peli- 
cans with the crowned 
cranes who keep house 
next to them, and who 
occasionall) discuss 
matters over the front 
fence Then, stretch- 




CROWNED CRANE AND THE PELICANS. 



54 



WINTER AT THE ZOO. 



[Nov. 



ing out his head, the ailjutant displays a length litde fiimily who never knew what winter was 

of bare neck which is surprising, and, clapping in their native land. They gaze out on the 

his long beak very rapidly, he effectually drowns strange white world in large-eyed wonder at 

all other noise and generally drives the visitors least the parents do, for the baby Indian ante- 
out of the place quite deafened. How funny lope is only a few weeks old, and the hay-strewn 




INDIAN ANTKLOPE. 



a group of these old fellows can be ! They re- 
mind one of a consultation of doctors over a 
case of severe illness; with hands tucked under 
their coat-tails, their bald heads shaking as if 
to say, " No hope, really; we have done every 
thing that can be done." 

In one of the warmest buildings is a happy 



room in which the little creature frisks about 
is the whole world to it. 

They are wonderfully graceful animals, and 
one wonders how any body can have the heart 
to chase and kill them, even for food. 

Some hardy .American relatives of theirs, the 
Rocky Mountain goats in an adjoining cage. 



i893.] 



WINTER AT TIIK ZOO. 



55 



m'->..iTiuu|ttfitrt 

mMm 





ROCKY MOUNTAIN CiOATS LIKE DOLLS. 



are less attractive, though they create much 
amusement by their appetites; for, after the 
peanuts are all gone, the paper bag will be 
quite as acceptable, and one day a little girl 
was seen in front of their cage, watching, in 
helpless agony, the disappearance of her favor- 
ite doll seized by these insatiable animals. 
Time would fail to tell of the appliances 



used for the winter comfort of the many animals 
sheltered at the Zoo — the sprinkler for the 
rhinoceros, the tepid bath for the tapir, and 
the winter arrangements for such out-of-door 
animals as the buffaloes, camels, elks, etc.; so 
my only hope is that some day, either in winter 
or in summer you will visit the Zoological Gar- 
dens and see it all for yourselves. 




m "T-K^ ^'^'^^ h 



-J^Sferf 




^(o)k' 



By Frank Valextixe. 



'T WAS General Swift Runofifski Dadley, — 
A striking name, as many would say — 

(Of what nation he was, it might puzzle one sadly 
To fully determine. — Be that as it may, 

Whether English, American, French, or Russian, 

It signifies little to this discussion). 

'T was General Swift Runoffski Dadley, 
A proud and a pompous man was he — 

But one thing, alas ! he managed badly : 
He never could gain a victory. 

Though he fought many battles, and far and wide. 

He always was found on the losing side. 



Said his wife full often, and eyed him sadly, 
" It 's a wearisome trouble and grief to me, 
To think you should always be whipped so badly, 

Instead of gaining a victory. 
Beat some one, beat something — don't beaten be, 
Or never come back to the baby and me ! " 
s6 



GENERAL DADLEY. 

Off he inarche.1 once more, the doughty Dadley, 

Looking as proud as prouil could be; 
And the loving young wile awaited hini gladly, 

( 1 liough some misgivings, no doubt, had she' ) 
Well, dear, did you beat?" "Well, yes, my sweet- 
We-we-beat, vve-we-beat, ^^^-^^'t-^eat a ;v/m// " 



57 




JACK FROST. 



By Ruth Hall. 



Jack Frost passed this way last night, 
And nipped, with saucy fingers, 

Every gold and scarlet leaf 
That on my maple lingers. 



He scratched a message on the pane- 
A hint more kind than courtly: 
" Better see to fires and flowers ! 
I '11 be back here shortly ! " 




By J. L. Harbour. 



One day, when I was a boy, Jack Dilloway 
came over to our house with something he 
called a " scheme." 

Jack's schemes were always of a kind cal- 
culated to contribute to Jack's enjoyment of 
life. His parents sometimes said regretfully 
that about all Jack thought of was " a good 
time." But now that they are old people with 
Jack's children caUing them "Grandpa" and 
" Grandma," it must be pleasant for them — and 
for Jack, too — to remember that Jack's pursuit 
of boyish enjoyment never led him into doing 
anything cruel, or malicious, or wicked. 

Everybody liked Jack, mischievous little tike 
though he was. His love of fun manifested itself 
strongly in a pair of big, twinkling blue eyes, 
and a mouth with lips parted in an almost per- 
petual smile, showing two rows of uneven teeth. 

His face was as freckled as a turkey's egg, 
and he had curly brown hair that he seldom 
"had time" to keep in order. He lived on a 
farm divided from the farm on which I lived 
only by what we called the " big road," 
although it was but an ordinary highway. 

The Dilloway farm-house was within three 
hundred yards of my father's house, and Jack 
and I were much together. I was but four 
days older than Jack, and we were fourteen 
years old at the time of which I write. 

I, too, had a boyish love of fun, but I was 
less imaginative than Jack, and less fertile in 
" schemes " for having " no end of fun," as 
Jack said. 

" I '11 tell you what we '11 do," said Jack, 



his blue eyes twinkling in pleased anticipation, 
" and it '11 be jolly good fun. See if you don't 
say so. Did you know that there was going to 
be a big circus in town on the fourteenth ? " 

" No ; really ? " 

"Yes, sir; honest. Our hired man has just 
come from town, and he saw them putting up 
the bills. He says it looks as though it '11 be 
a mighty big thing if they do even half they 've 
got down on the bills. They 're going to have 
two rings ."'' 

" Two rings ? " 

" Yes, sir ; and something going on in both 
of 'em all of the time. Won't that be great?" 

" I should say so. But what 's that got to do 
with your scheme ? " 

" Everything. If it was n't for the circus I 
would n't have thought of the scheme. You 're 
going to the circus?" 

Of course I was. Every farmer's boy in that 
neighborhood would be at the circus. It meant 
more than even the Fourth of July to us. The 
moment Jack said " circus," I thought, with 
great satisfaction, of the two dollars and a 
half I had that day received for a calf I had 
sold, and I said : 

" Of course, if there 's a circus, I 'm going 
to it." 

" So am I," said Jack, i)romptly. " What do 
you say to our making a little money out of it?" 

" How ? " 

" Easy as rolling oft" a log. Have you ever 
heard of anybody keeping a refreshment-stand 
at a circus ? " 



S8 



JACK nil I.OWAV S SCIIKMK. 



59 



" Of course 1 have." 

•• What 's to hinder two smart fellows like 
Jack Dilloway and Ned Dawson from setting 
up in a little business of that sort ? " 

"Is that your scheme ? " 

'• That 's my scheme." 

He waited for a moment for me to realize 
the full magnitude of it before he added : 

" I believe we could do very well with a little 
scheme of that sort, Ned. And it would be 
great fun, too. Then it would be jolly to have 
just all the lem'nade and gingerbread and pea- 
nuts and things of that sort we wanted to eat ; 
would n't it ? " 

" We 'd have to have a pretty big stock if 
we ate all we wanted, and had anything left to 
sell," I said. " But how could we go to the 
circus and keep a refreshment-stand at the 
same time ? " 

" Why, we could go to the circus at night. 
It 's much better at night, anyhow. And re- 
freshment-stands never do much business in the 
evening at a circus. We 'd be all sold out by 
six o'clock. I just believe we could make a 
big thing out of it." 

I was of a less sanguine temperament than 
Jack; nevertheless his "scheme" pleased me. 
We sat down on a log of wood in my father's 
stable-yard to " talk the thing over," and our 
enthusiasm increased as we talked. Jack 
brought out a stub of lead-pencil, and "figured 
the whole thing up " on a new pine shingle. 

He made it appear that his little scheme 
would net each of us as much as ten or twelve 
dollars — 

" To say nothing of the fun we '11 get out of 
it," he added. "I '11 yell out, ' Lem'nade! here 
you are, ladies and gentlemen ! ice-co\d lem'- 
nade, rig/if here in the shade, and ofi/y five 
cents a glass ! Walk up, chalk up, any way to 
ge/ up, ladies and gentlemen ! A piece of ice 
in every glass ! T/iis way for your ice-cold 
lem'nade at five cents a glass ! ' " 

Jack stood up on the log, and screeched this 
out so vigorously that my mother put her head 
out of our kitchen window and said : 

" Why, Jack, are you going crazy ? Why 
are you making all that noise ? " 

" Oh, Ned and I are going into bizness, and 
we 're just practisin' up for it," replied Jack, 



"Are you going to start out as auctioneers? 
I can think of no other business requiring such 
lung-capacity as you are e.vhibiting." 

Our parents finally gave their consent to the 
carrying out of Jack's little scheme, and we were 
in great glee. 

I had almost five dollars in my little tin 
bank, and Jack had about the same amount. 

We invested that morning in lemons, sugar, 
peanuts, and a box of peppermint-candy kisses 
with very affectionate sentences on them in pink 
letters. We knew that this kind of candy was 
in great demand at a circus. 

My mother was kind enough to make us a 
lot of nice gingerbread, and Jack's mother made 
us a great panful of tempting-looking sugar 
cookies with a plump raisin in the center of 
each. 

Then we had what we did not see on any of 
the other refreshment-stands, and that was great 
pyramids of beautiful red June apples that we 
had poHshed until they looked Hke glass. 

Apples of this kind were very scarce in our 
neighborhood that year, and Jack's father was 
the only man we knew of who had any. He 
had two trees hanging full of them, and he had 
given us a whole bushel on condition that Jack 
and I should weed out a certain onion-patch 
of his. 

We had gladly agreed to do this, and the first 
new apples of the summer graced our refresh- 
ment-stand. 

We had gone to the grounds the day before 
the circus and put up our stand in what we felt 
sure would be a good place ; and we were on 
the spot very early the next morning covering 
our counter with clean white table-cloths, and 
arranging our stock in trade. 

The pretty red apples we arranged in three 
pyramids, one at each end and one in the cen- 
ter of the table. The peanuts we put into little 
brown-paper bags, and the candy we displayed 
in two glass fruit-dishes borrowed from our 
mothers' pantries. 

The glasses for the lemonade also came from 
our home pantries. We set them out in a shin- 
ing row in front of our counter. At the sugges- 
tion of my mother we had put two big bouquets 
of wild flowers between the pyramids of apples, 
and Jack told the truth when he stepped back. 



6o 



JACK DILLOWAV S SCHEME. 



[Nov. 



with arms akimbo and head twisted to one 
side, surveying the complete resuh of our labor, 
and said : 

'' I tell you, Ned, it just looks sniptious ! 
There is n't a neater-looking stand on the circus 
grounds. Those apples will sell like hot cakes. 
You know how fond everybody is of the first 
new apples that come out. I 'm glad red 
'Junes' are so scarce this year. I believe we 'd 
better sell them three for five cents instead of 
four. I tell you those bouquets are the finishing 
touch, are n't they ? " 

" They do set off the counter," I replied. " I 
should n't wonder if they helped to draw trade." 

"If they don't, the way I 'm going to call out 
by and by will." 

This was very early in the day, even before 
the tents had been raised, although the circus 
wagons had arrived and the circus men were 
hard at work on the two rings, and getting the 
great tents ready to be put up. 

But every boy in Gastonville and from a 
great part of the surrounding country seemed 
to be on the circus grounds. 

There was no railroad in the town, and many 
of the boys had walked three or four miles into 
the country to meet the circus as it came from 
the next town in its own wagons. 

We knew many of the boys, and they began 
to manifest great friendship for us when they 
discovered that we were keeping a refreshment- 
stand. They assembled in front of our counter 
with cordial greetings of friendship, such as — 

" Hello, Ned ! " 

" Hello, Jack ! " 

" How 're you, Ned ? " 

" How goes it. Jack ? " 

We replied respectfully but a little coldly to 
these cordial salutations ; for when we saw the 
boys approaching, Jack said in a low tone to 
me : 

" I '11 tell you what it is, Ned, bizness is one 
thing and friendship 's another, and we 've got 
to run this stand on strictly bizness principles, 
or fail up before noon." 

I appreciated the good sense of this remark, 
and I said: 

" That 's a fact. Jack. If we treat one we 've 
got to treat another." 

" That 's it," replied Jack, heartily. " We 'd 



soon be at the bottom of our lem'nade bar'l, 
and have no money to show for it. We '11 just 
have to let the boys know from the start that 
we mean bizness.'' 

When we made this apparent to our youthful 
friends, they suddenly grew cold in their de- 
meanor, and withdrew one by one after making 
unpleasant remarks about our lack of generos- 
ity, some of the boys going so far as to say 
that they felt quite sure that we would charge 
our own grandmothers for even looking at our 
"old lemonade"; and they further added that 
our lemonade looked " very second class," any- 
how, — to all of which we replied by saying 
briefly but decidedly : " Bizness is bizness, 
boys." 

We did not expect to do much business until 
after the "grand street parade" at ten o'clock. 
The streets of the town were lined with people 
who would come out to the circus grounds after 
the parade, and then the real business of the 
day would begin for us. 

We would be compelled to miss the joy of 
following the procession through the town, but 
we congratulated ourselves that our stand was 
so located that we could witness the starting and 
the return of the parade. 

Two enormous elephants, caparisoned with a 
great display of crimson velvet and trappings 
of gold and silver tinsel, were to lead the pro- 
cession. A silken canopy, upheld by rods of 
gold, rose high above the cushioned back of 
each elephant, and under these canopies were 
to ride " a bevy of brilliantly beautiful Circas- 
sian maidens," as the flaming posters on the 
fences said. 

The elephants had been arrayed in their gor- 
geous trappings, but the "brilliantly beautiful" 
ladies had not appeared when the elephants 
were led out to a spot directly in front of our 
stand to wait until the rest of the procession 
was made up. 

The keeper of the elephants, arrayed in gor- 
geous but not very clean Oriental finery, led 
the two huge animals out to within ten feet of 
our stand, and then returned to the tent for 
something, after cautioning two or three hun- 
dred wildly excited boys to "just let those ele- 
phants alone." 

But the boys, heedless of this command, 



189a.] 



JACK DILLOWAVS SCHEME. 



61 



threw peanuts and candy to the rk-pliants, and 
suddenly Jack saiil : 

" I 'm going to toss them one of these apples, 
and see how they hke it." 

They Hked the apples very well — alas, too 
well ! After tasting the apples they paid no 
heed to the nuts and candy oftered them, but 
kept their little black eyes fixed on our apples 
while the one nearest us reached his long pro- 
boscis out for more. 

Jack gave him one, which he swung lightly 



although Jack and I fumed and threatened, we 
were both afraid to go near the animals, and 
there they stood rapidly stowing away every- 
thing on the stand, while the crowd of unsym- 
pathetic small boys yelled and screeched with 
excitement. 

Finally I ran toward the tent in search of the 
keeper, whom 1 met coming out of the dressing- 
room. 

" Your old elephants arc eating up our re- 
freshment-stand ! " I .shrieked excitedly. " Come 




into his trunk; and then, to our horror and un- 
speakable amazement, he and his mate stepped 
forward as our first patrons and greedily began 
devouring our stock, without even the courtesy 
of asking the price of anything. 

" Get out of here I " shrieked Jack, jumping up 
and down in his wrath and dismay behind the 
counter. " Go away ! Clear out of this ! Let 
those apples alone! Let those cakes be l'' 

" Run for the keeper!" I shrieked. "There 
won't be a thing left in two minutes ! Get out 
of this ! " 

But the great beasts did not " get out "; and 



s- TWO MINUTES ! ' 



and get them away — quick ! Hurry up, or 
there won't be a thing left ! " 

The keeper quickened his pace, and just as 
we reached the stand Jack threw up his hands 
despairingly and said : 

" Great Scott, Ned ! one of 'em has run his 
horrid old proboscis clear to the bottom of our 
lemonade- barrel ! And look at that stand ! Is 
there anything left ? I could 7%///, I 'm so mad ! 
Just look at that stand ! " 

There was n't much but the stand left for me 
to look at. A single ginger-cake and three or 
four cookies were all we had left, while many of 



62 



JACK DILLOWAY S SCHEME. 



the apples had disappeared. One of the ele- 
phants, grabbing greedily at a loaf of ginger- 
bread after the arrival of the keeper, caught a 
fold of the table-cloth in his proboscis, and 
thus cleared the stand of everything on it, the 
glassware coming to the ground with a crash. 

" Somebody 's got to pay for this! " said Jack, 
with a suggestion of a sob in his voice that one 
could forgive even in a boy of fifteen under the 
circumstances. 

" It is n't my fault," said the keeper of the 
elephants, carelessly. 

" Whose fault is it, then ? " I asked indig- 
nantly. " If you 'd stayed with the elephants, 
you could have kept them away from our 
stand ! " 

There were hot tears on my cheeks as I 
spoke, but they made no impression on the 
keeper. He led the elephants away from our 
stand, and ten minutes later the procession 
started, leaving Jack and me amid the ruins 
of our stock in trade. 

We have laughed a great deal over the affair 
since, but we did n't laugh any at the time. There 
were tears in our eyes, our lips quivered, and we 
choked back our sobs as we went about gathering 
up an apple here, a bag of peanuts there, and 
the few whole pieces of glassware we had left. 

" We might as well pack up our things and 
go home," said Jack. 

In the midst of our grief a stout, elderly man, 
with a black-velvet vest and an enormous gold 
watch-chain with a big red seal dangling from 
it, came along, and eyed us and our stand curi- 
ously for a moment. 

" What 's the matter here ? " he said as he 
came up and leaned on our counter. 

"Everything 's the matter!" said Jack, tear- 
fully. " Here we put over ten dollars into 
things for a refreshment-stand, besides all our 
folks gave us, and the old circus elephants came 
along and ate up almost everything and smashed 
up the rest ! They even spoiled our barrel of 
lemonade, and we have n't even got money 
enough to go into the circus!" 



" You say that the circus elephants did this ? 
\\'here was their keeper at the time ? " 

" He left them here in the road while he 
went back to the tent for something, and they 
marched right up here, and ruined everything," 
said Jack, his wrath shining in his tear-dimmed 
eyes. 

The man asked us some more questions, and 
the proprietor of a rival stand across the road 
came over and corroborated all we had said. 

Then the man took a lead-pencil and an 
envelop from his pocket, and made a fair esti- 
mate of the value of our stock and of the broken 
glassware. 

" It amounts to about fourteen dollars," he 
said. " I suppose you would be willing to accept 
that and a couple of tickets to the circus as pay- 
ment in full for the damage done ? " 

" Well, I guess we would ! " said Jack. 

And the next moment we were staring in 
open-mouthed amazement at a little pile of 
bills and two thick yellow tickets lying on our 
counter, while the man was walking back toward 
the circus-tent. 

" Well, if he is n't a trump ! " said Jack, bring- 
ing his fist down heavily on the counter. 

" He is that ! " I said heartily. 

" Is n't this great / " Jack said, as he reached 
out for the money. " Seven dollars and a circus- 
ticket apiece ! Yiooxay, Neddy, my boy ! I 
just tell you, Ned, we were born in the lucky 
time of the moon ! " 

" You did n't think so ten minutes ago." 

"Well, I ktio7ii so now; I just wonder who 
he is." 

We found out that afternoon, as we sat in 
one of the best seats witnessing the " grand 
entry " in the crowded circus-tent ; for at that 
time the man who had made good our loss rode 
once or twice around the ring in an elegant 
landau. He nodded his head toward Jack and 
me when he saw us staring at him with open 
eyes and mouths, and we heard a man behind 
us say to his wife: 

" That man in the carriage is the owner of 
the whole thing." 



^ 




If I were Three, 
And had a pink shell for an ear 

And trusted everything my eyes could see : 
liien I should love, and laugh, and never fear 
l^ I were Three. ' 



If I were Three, 
With just a curled-up rose-leaf for a mouth 

And all a mother's love for certainty '- ■ 
I should not care if winds blew north or south, 
If I were Three. 



If I were Three, 
And all my poet asked for were a kiss 

And he protested that he loved but me " 
I thmk I 'd give him one, when he brought this, 
If I were Three. 
63 





BaR Junn 



^ KAKFJi=- /V^^^^^^ 



'-J 




TT JE cannot ignore him, for he is our 
\ \ nearest neighbor in his direction — 
under our feet. Perhaps the fact that he 
is opposite to us in location may pre- 
l)are you to learn that he is opposite 
to us in many other respects. 

He studies from dawn till dark while 
a boy, and walks on stilts, plays ball 
and marbles, and flies kites when he is 
a man. He is fond of fireworks, but 
displays them princi])ally by daylight. 
He rides in boats drawn by men, and 
in a vehicle (which might be called a 
carriage or a wheelbarrow, according 
to one's mood) moved by sails. The 
needle of his compass — the mariner's 
compass being his own invention, by 
the way — points to the south; and he 
talks of the " west-north " or the " east- 
south," as the case may be. His own 
name is likewise turned about. If he 
is John Chinaman with us, he would 
be C'hinaman John at home. In school 
he sits with his back to the teacher and 
studies his lesson aloud. The ferule 
reaches for him if he fails to study loud 
enough. He dates his letters with the 
year first, and begins to read on the 
lower right-hand corner of the last page. 
If John is mortally offended or insulted, 
he does not attack his enemy as a 
hot-headed American might do; but 



64 








OUR NEIGHBOR |()11N. 



65 



kills himself instead on the enemy's door-step, 

and the mourning relatives don white to show 
their grief. 

When John wishes to pay speeial respect to 
any one, he keeps his hat on and takes his 
shoes off in that one's {presence. When he 
meets a friend he grasps and cordially shakes 
his t)wn hand, leaNing the friend to do the 
same for himself, instead of heartily i)er- 
forming that operation for each otlier, as we 



by a rival, and also avoids losing much time. 
In the Lalos tribe of western China, the bride 
jjerehes herself on the highest attainable branch 
of a large tree when the wedding morning ar- 
rives, while the mother, grandmother, aunts, and 
elderly female cousins, all armed with sticks, 
cluster on the lower limbs. It is only when 
John has earned her by successfully breaking 
through this "picket-line" and carrying her otf, 
tliat he is allowed to have his bride. 




do. If so glad to see each other that hand- 
shaking does not express their joy, they rub 
shoulders until tired out. John shaves, not his 
face, but his head and eyebrows; he whitens 
his shoes ; he wears a long gown, and car- 
ries a fan. He assumes the duties of milliner, 
laundress, and dressmaker; he pays the doctor 
as long as he is well, but stops payment as soon 
as he is ill. 

When John is of marriageable age he must 
be satisfied with a bride whom he has not pre- 
viously known; and the courtship is not ex- 
pected to last more than three days. In this 
way he runs little risk of seeing himself cut out 
Vol. XX.— 5. 



As a father, John idolizes his boys, but feels 
keenly the disgrace brought by the advent of a 
daughter. He does not consider her worthy 
of a name, but calls her Number i, 2, or 3, as 
the case may be. He ignores her entirely in 
teUing the number of his children, counting 
only the boys. He considers her as without 
mind or soul, and denies her the advantages of 
education which her brother receives. As she 
grows up she is a slave in her own and her 
husband's house; and not till she is old does 
she receive love and reverence. 

If a child is taken sick, both John and his 
wife think the soul has wandered away, and 



66 



OUR NEIGHBOR JOHN. 



steps are taken to recall it. The mother calls 
at the open door, " Soul, come home 1 " The 
father goes out to seek it, usually searching 
about the nearest bridge. At his cry of " Com- 
ing, coming 1" the mother looks carefully about 
her floor and secures the first thing of life she 
sees. This may be flea, or beetle, or other in- 
sect, but is supposed to have within it the miss- 
ing spirit. It is wrapped up and joyfully placed 
under the pillow of the sick one, who is now 
expected to recover forthwith. If death comes 
instead, the child is buried summarily and with 
scant ceremony. John considers his own cof- 
fin one of the most valued and most necessary 
pieces of furniture for his best room, and his 
highest ambition is to have an elaborate funeral. 
He and the older members of his household have 
this ambition gratified in proportion to their 
wealth and the number of their descendants. 
As an inventor John has achieved some dis- 
tinction, and has won for himself the name of 
the " Yankee of the East." Besides the mariner's 
compass, type, printing, paper, porcelain, silk, 
gunpowder, and clocks are some of his alleged 
discoveries. He has kept the knowledge of 
these things to himself as much as possible, 
scorning to give to those so much inferior to 
him as he supposes other nations to be, the 
knowledge which he has made his own. John 
himself and his countrymen are "celestials," his 
Emperor is the " Son of Heaven " ; why should he 
stoop to benefit a people so much beneath him 
as the inhabitants of England or the United 
States ! John's school-books give amusing tes- 
timony to the abundance of this national pride 
and self-satisfaction. His geography allots nine- 
tenths of the globe to China, about a square inch 
to England, and no space at all to our 
own great country ! This same 
self-conceit helps to ac- ."^ 



count for the lack of progress noticeable in 
John and his countrymen. For centuries they 
held themselves quite apart from other nations. 

At the .same time, John's nation is, in its way, 
an educated nation. All public offices are open 
to the graduates of their colleges, without any dis- 
tinction of class or creed. Brains and skill, rather 
than money, are the highways to honor and oftice. 

John's language is said to be the hardest of 
all to learn. His alphabet has two hundred 
and fourteen letters, and such complications of 
tones and inflections that one word spoken in 
ten difterent ways means ten difterent things. 

As a business man John is not remarkable 
for honesty, to say the least. One traveler as- 
serts that the first Chinaman by whom he was 
swindled was the first one with whom he had 
any business transactions — and that the last 
one who swindled him was the last native with 
whom he had any dealings when he left the 
country a year later. 

John, as a soldier, is so brave that he goes to 
a night attack with his lighted lantern. It may 
expose his whereabouts to the enemy, to be 
sure, but if hostile soldiers are to be dreaded, 
much more the dark — in John's opinion. 

John's religion? He has plenty — such as 
it is. Ever}^ trade has its patron divinity. The 
joss-houses have their idols by the dozen, and 
John smokes and chats as he prays. As h.e has 
only a single tongue, however, he must use some 
device to do either the chatting or the praying. 
So he prays by means of two sticks, half round, 
determining by the way they fall whether or 
not his prayer is granted. Or he jjrints his 
prayer on a strip of red paper and i)ins it on 
the wall near the door. At the proper time the 
priest sends it, with other accumulated 
prayers, up into the air on 
the wings of fire. 





*^tC!^^, 

















./'>^fl' 



1f 



■ WE ALL 'S GWINE SWIMMIN' ! " 







'WE ALL S GWINE HOME! 




M 



When the bugler 
sounds the first note 
of " reveille," the cor- 
poral of the guard 
pulls the lanyard of 
the morning gun, a 
sullen boom rever- 
berates on the air, 
the Stars and Stripes 
is run up, and the 
day at a United 
'/ / •' States army post has 

^^' begun. 

Here are the notes of the reveille : 






■4- 




The soldiers have adapted words to the best- 
known bugle-calls, anrl those which go with 
reveille are: 

We can't get 'em up ! 
We can't get 'em up ! 
We can't get 'em up 
In the morning! 

The soldier who is not roused by reveille, 
which is derived from a French verb meaning 
to awaken, must be a very sound sleeper; for 



any one who has visited at an army post knows 
that it is impossible to sleep with the bugler 
blowing a blast under your window and that 
dreadful gun going off. There is a tradition at 
Fortress Monroe, w^here a large hotel stands in 
range of the gun, that the soldiers formerly 
took delight in ramming turf down upon the 
charge, so as to make the report all the louder 
and more disturbing. 

At reveille, which is sounded any time be- 
tween 5.30 and 6.30 A. M., the soldiers tumble 
out of bed, dress hastily, fall in ranks for roll- 
call, answer to their names, and are dismissed 
for breakfast. Meanwhile the officer of the 
day — the only officer who need be stirring at 
this early hour — visits the guard. When the 
sentry sees him approaching, he calls : " Turn 
out the guard ! Officer of the Day I " The 
guard is drawn up in line. " Present arms ! " 
commands the sergeant. The officer then in- 
spects the guard, and receives the sergeant's 
report. The guard is obliged to '-turn out" for 
certain dignitaries — the President of the United 
States, members of the cabinet, foreign minis- 
ters, a general, the officer in command of the 
post, and the officer of the day. At West Point 
they tell a rather neat story at the expense of 
one of the " plebes," as members of the lowest 
class are called there. While on sentry duty 
one day, he saw a priest, whose features were 
unmistakably Hibernian, approaching. "Turn 
out the guard I " shouted the plebc, " Foreign 
Minister ! " 

We left the soldiers at breakfast. At some 
posts this is followed by the regular drills. At 
others — Governor's Island in New York Har- 



68 



FROM KKVKILI.K TO TAPS. 



69 



bor, for instance — the hour between 7.30 and 
8.30 A. M. is filled in with drills for the "awk- 
ward sciiiad." target-practice in the ditch, and 
otlds and ends. Dress- 
parade, 






who, with the new guard, goes on duty until 
guard-mounting the morning following. 

The duties of the officer of the day some- 
what resemble those of the executive officer 
aboard a man-of-war. He is responsible for 
tilings generally about the po.st, and 
esjjecially for the jiolice arrange- 
ments — the guard. This he should 
visit at intervals during the day, and 
must inspect at reveille, retreat (at 
sunset), and at least once between 
midnight and reveille. This last duty 
is the most irksome of all. Sometimes 
the officer will sit up an hour after 
midnight and then descend upon the 
guard ; sometimes he will turn out 
an hour or so before reveille, his pur- 




the most impor- 
tant ceremony of 
the day, when all 
the troops at the 
post pass the 
commanding of- 
ficer in review, to 
the martial strains 
of the band, or of 
the field music 
(bugles or drum- 
and-fife corps) if there be 
no band, is a "movable 
feast," taking place at some 
posts at 9 A. M., at others 
not until sunset. The adju- 
tant, having brought the com 
mand to "present arms," turns 
about, salutes the commanding 
officer, and reports: "Sir, the 
parade is formed." The com- 
manding officer now takes a hand 
and puts the command through such 
exercises in the manual of arms as 
he may desire, the march in review VgiMCH RlFLEDGUM ^.^s****'"''^ pose being to take 

closing the ceremony. When dress- \ ^^J:^"^^"^ the guard by surprise. The 

parade is held in the morning, it is im- \ ^^^"-^""^ sentry and non-commissioned of- 

mediately followed by guard-mounting, ^^""'^ ficers of the guard must be on the alert; 

in which the band or field music also takes part, the others may be asleep, but must be in their 
In this ceremony the men "warned" for guard clothes. In time of war, when it is necessary 
duty are reviewed by the new officer of the day, to enforce discipline most rigidly, a sentry who 



70 



FROM REVEILLE TO TAPS. 



/^ortar Practice 



[Nov. 




Tire!" 



goes to sleep while on duty, or leaves his post, 
is punished with death. In time of peace, of 
course, the penalty is less severe. In war no 
sentry would allow any one to pass him with- 
out giving the countersign, and even in peace 
he challenges all comers at night. While a 
countersign is rarely required in peace, it, 
nevertheless, gives one (juite a gruesome feel- 
ing to be challenged at night. The sally- 
port at Fort Hamilton, New York Harbor, is a 
long, narrow, arched masonry passage, very, 
very dark at night. Leaving the fort late one 
night, I heard the sentry come to a sudden halt, 
and felt instinctively that he had brought his 
musket to the " charge." It is rather uni)leasant 
to feel that a bayonet is jjointcd at your breast. 
" Who goes there ? " rang the challenge through 
the vaulted way. F(jr a moment I thought of 



beating a hasty retreat. Then, remembering 
directions that had been given me, I said : 
" Friend of officer of the post." 

" Advance, friend ! " was the welcome reply, 
and a moment later I found myself, to my great 
rehef, under the star-lit sky. 

We dropped the routine work at guard- 
mounting. From ID to ii a. m. is the hour for 
drills. These are very varied at artillery posts, 
as Uncle Sam expects his artillery to be expert, 
not only as artillery but also as infantry. F'or 
this reason the batteries are drilled in infantry 
tactics as well as at heavy guns, siege-guns, 
mortars, and field-pieces. When the recently 
adopted Infantry Drill Regulations went into 
effect, the garrison at Fort Columbus, Gover- 
nor's Island, devoted a month to company 
drill, which was followed bv battalion drill. 



i892 



FROM REVEILLE TO TAPS. 



71 



stone, said to have been the work of a British 
prisoner in the war of 1812, liberty having 
been his reward.* The infantry and field-gun 
drills are held on the pretty parade-ground 
near the center of the island, with the harbor 
and the Statue of Liberty as a background. 
I'he field-guns are "in park" on this fine stretch 
of lawn. There are four guns to a battery, each 
gun under a sergeant, who is a "chief of de- 
tachment." The corporal who sights the gun 
is the gunner. The others are cannoneers. In- 
cluding the chief of detachment, there are nine 
men to a gun. When this has been unlim- 
bered, and the caisson run to the rear, the chief, 
the gunner, and four cannoneers remain with the 
gun, and one cannoneer carries ammunition 
from the caisson, where the other two cannon- 
eers remain. 



Now, the battery-drills are divided uj) as fol- 
lows : two weeks infantry, two weeks mortar 
and siege-guns, two weeks eighi-imh rilled guns, 
two weeks field-guns, and two weeks mei hani- 
cal manceuvers. These last consi.st of lifting 
the gun from the carriage, and similar e.xercises. 
The captain rarely appears at drills, these 
being usually conducteil by the lieutenants. 
" Captains," said the major in c;ommand of 
a post to me once, " are worthless. Majors," 
he added, with a twinkle in his eye, " are more 
worthless." Majors are also known as "fifth 
wheels to the coach." In the Army Regula- 
tions, majors are mentioned but once, it being a 
major's duty in case of the death of an officer of 
his regiment to secure said officer's effects and 
to make an inventory of them. But, of course, 
majors are often in commantl of posts and in 
other responsible positions, and 
the captains are responsible for 
tlieir batteries. They have been 
through the mill so long that they 
can well leave the hard work 
of the drills to the lieutenants. 

With the artillery, the drills, 
so faithfully practiced, are with 
old guns which an enemy would 
not fear much more than pop- 
guns. For with his modern guns 
he could, while banging away at 
our forts, remain out of range of 
our guns. Our little army is as 
well officered, and has as good 
material in the ranks, as any army 
in the world ; but it is expected 
to fight without weapons. Said 
an officer to me : " We have n't 
modem guns, we have n't mod- 
ern forts, we have n't modern 
powder, we have n't men enough, 
we have n't even the conveniences 
for planting torpedoes — in all 
other respects we are well pre- 
pared for the enemy." 

At Governor's Island, the men 
who are to go through the in- 
fantry drill exercises, and to be 
drilled at the field-guns, march out of the pic- The cannoneers are known by numbers, and 
turesque sally-port of Fort Columbus, which is No. i is the star performer of the cast. He is 
surmounted by a military device well carved in the rammer and sponger, and, if he is a quick, 
* See story, "The Carving Over the Sally-port," Sr. Nicholas for November, 1888, page 10. 




THE SALLY-PORT AT FORT COLUMBUS, GOVERNOR S ISLAND. 



FROM REVEILLE TO TAPS. 



graceful fellow, he can execute a f>as scul on the 
turf, to the admiration of the spectators and the 
envy of his brother cannoneers. See his lithe, 
strong pose, — every muscle on the alert, — as 
he stands ready to jump and sponge the piece 
the moment it has been discharged! Nothing 
is prettier, in a military way, than the group 
around one of these old-time field-guns when 
the gunner has taken aim and the cannoneer at 
the lanyard awaits the order to fire. 

In mortar drill six men serve the piece. The 
mortar rests upon a platform. If it has, in fir- 
ing, kicked back to the right or left, the offi- 
cer commands : " In battery ! — Heave ! " The 
four cannoneers, with their handspikes, heave 
the piece into position, stopping at " Steady ! " 
When it comes to loading the shell, hooks are 
suspended from one of the handspikes and in- 
serted in the projectile, which is thus carried by 
two men to the mortar, raised to the level of 
the muzzle, and unhooked. Bang! goes the 
mortar; the shell rises into the air, and then 
descends with a long, graceful curve. 

Half an hour after drill, at 11.30, the "first 
sergeants' call " is sounded. The first sergeants 
repair to the adjutant's office, and receive from 
the sergeant-major the details for guards, etc., 
and copy orders received into the company 
order-book. 

Noon is the dinner-hour, and afternoons and 
evenings the men have practically to them- 
selves, except that they are obliged to clean 
their "kits" — muskets, bayonets, and accou- 
trements. Recruits, and those who have done 
poorly at drills, may have further drilling after 
dinner, and all must be present at the roll-call 
at " retreat," when the sunset gun is fired and 
the colors are lowered. " Retreat " is a very old 
bugle-call, dating back certainly as far as the 
first crusade. In winter there is, in the after- 
noon, a free, voluntary school for privates, the 
attendance at which, at most posts, is very grati- 
fying. There are also a school for non-commis- 
sioned officers and the OflFicers' Lyceum, under 
the commanding officer. At some posts the sol- 



diers' duties are more spread out over the day, 
with the avowed purpose of keeping the men at 
the post. In fact, whether a soldier's lot is a 
happy one or not depends a good deal upon 
the commanding officer, or " K. O.," as he is 
called for short. 

At cavalry posts, or where there is a light 
battery, the stable duties consume considerable 
time. 

The following words, written to " stable call," 
are in vogue throughout the mounted service : 

Now go to the stable, 
All you who are able, 
And give to your horses 
Some oats and some corn. 

For if you don't do it 
The captain will know it, 
And then you will rue it, 
As sure as you 're born. 

The " canteen," or post exchange, as it is 
now officially termed, has, at posts where 
there is room enough, — Fort Hamilton, for 
instance, — developed into a pleasant soldiers' 
club, with a restaurant, reading-room, and even 
bowling-alleys. The work about the post is 
done by the contingent from the guard-house. 

"Tattoo" is sounded at 9 p. m., after which 
quiet must prevail in the quarters. At 1 1 p. m. 
the beautiful bugle-call "Taps" — the signal for 
"lights out" — is sounded, the first sergeants go 
quietly through their quarters, see if all are pres- 
ent, and the soldier's day is over. 

Here are the notes of " Taps." 

Slow. 



55E2 



Si^ 






# 



^ 



S 



a i g. - 



t^ 



"Taps" is played, and most fittingly, over the 
.soldier's grave, be he general or private. As 
with " lights out " night closes in upon the sol- 
dier's day, so with the same call the curtain rolls 
down upon his life. 



^ Y^^^ with Dolly 



Bu 0udora Jg. ^Bunistead. 



/ ^oucnibcr 




Tli«? j)octov Came, and he 5ald[ iwas plain 

Tl^ai Dolly's ti'Oiible wos chroju'c ; 
And he tl\oii.<^ht a i*idc on a rail-road train 

VvGuld suit her bc$i for a tonic . 
So I wrapped her up witK the <Jreate,^t Care 

JK-Vid put on her Sunday bonnet ; 
And the en<^inc^ that "was the rockind- chair 

WitK Enoineer Harry upon it- 




^^ 



1 ^ave my X)olly all ^lie would need 

And propped her up witK a pillow ; 
She Avas flying along at hVKtnincJ ^peed 

In her palace C?a* of willow ; 
3ut all at once she i^ll on the tracK ; - 

O .' 'twas a dreadRil ending ! 
The engine i-ocKer went over her hack 

A.nd Im fraid ^es past all mendinO . 




;4^ 



Three hundred years ago, or so, 

The best that could be had for gold. 
To set before a queen herself, 

Might make a carving-knife run cold : 
A peacock stripped and roasted ! Then, 
Served in its feathered skin and crest, 
And glorious in the amethyst. 

Emerald, and sapphire of its breast, 
With curving throat of azure lights, 

And in its gilded beak a flame. 
Held high by some fair lady's hands 
On a great silver dish it came. 
And Cleopatra's purple sail 
Was duller than that streaming tail ! 
When that great gorgeous bird was fit, 
I wonder how one lifted it I 



74 



Wl.NTKV CHKER. 



75 



Talk of the good old times! Just think 

Of all the feathers ami the fuss ! 
The times we have are best of all. — 

The best is good enough for us ! 
Look at this phenix. crackling hot. 

Done to a turn of its brown breast, — 
I'rom last year's ashes here again, — 

Antl never mind the ])eacock's crest ! 



What will 1 have ? An outside bit 

Whose i)raises epicures might sing — 
The wish-bone, thank you, or perhaps 
The luscious picking of a wing ! 
Come, let a royal feast begin 
When Mary brings the turkey in : 
l"'()r all their crests, and peacocks, too, 
1 would n't change with them, — would you ? 



THE GREETINGS. 




By Margarkj' Johnson. 



" Comiiient vous portez-vous, chcre Madame ? " 
Says, courtesying, gay Louise, 
And carries herself with a conscious air, 
Polite and pretty and debonair, 
Remembers her manners everywhere, 
And always is quite at her ease. 



" Come sta ? " cries Filippo's musical 

voice, 

And he laughs witli his lips and eyes. 

Lithe and sturdy and brown of face. 

He walks and stands with a careless 

grace. 
And the vigorous ease of his southern 

race — 
" Come va, signor ? " he cries. 

" Wie befinden Sie Sick, me in Herr?" 

The grave words soberly fall, 

And, lost in the labyrinthine ways 

Of a vague, metaphysical, misty maze, 

I wonder, Hans of the wide-eyed gaze, 

You can '-find yourself" at all! 

Alive and alert from their heels to 
their heads, 

Come Tommy and Johnny 

And each energetic Amer- 
ican sprite, 

Who is up and a-doing 
from morning till night 

Cries out — and no wonder!- 
in greeting polite, 
" How are you ? " or " How do you do ? " 






An ^^' 



|nQen[ous 



^ 



^R^ 



■KcvvA- 




By Ernestine FEZAXDife. 



Children are often at a loss what to give their parents 
when birthday or Christmas-time comes around. If they 
only knew how to use their ten little fingers to advan- 
tage, they could very often solve the difficulty. Then, 
instead of presenting a gift which has no value save the 
kind thought which prompted it, they could offer a little 
souvenir which would give double pleasure from the fact 
that it is their own work. 




Among such articles as can be made by the children 
themselves, I would suggest a little pen-wiper, as shown 
in the heading, which can easily be made at small ex- 
|)ense. The materials required are : a wishbone, red 
sealing-wax, some coarse black thread, black ink, an old 
pair of kid gloves, and a little sewing-silk which will har- 
monize with the color of the gloves. 

When these materials are collected, the first thing to 
be done is to cut about twenty-five pieces of black thread, 
one inch long, and tie tiiem firmly together in the middle. 
(Fig. 2.) This will constitute the wig of our little sub- 
ject. Then go to work on the wishbone itself. Heat 
the sealing-wax over the gas or a candle until soft, apply 
several times to the head of the wishbone, until it is 
sufficiently covered; then shape with the fingers, making 
the general form of a face with a somewhat prominent 
nose. (Fig. I.) While the wax is still soft, press the 
black thread into it, spreading out the threads on each 



side. Another dab of wax on the very top of the head 
will give the appearance of a bald pate with just a rim of 
hair around it. Cut off the ends of the hair evenly; with 
a pin prick two small holes for the eyes, make a slight in- 
dentation for the mouth, and fill these with ink. The head 
will then be completed, and, when dry, we can go on with 
the work. Form the feet by applying wax to both extremi- 
ties of the bone, and shaping it to resemble feet. (Fig. I.) 
Now for the dress. Cut two oblong 
pieces of kid from the gloves, one 
the length of tlie bone, the other a 
little shorter. Nick both pieces at 
the bottom ; feather-stitch the ends 
of the longer piece together so as 
to form a pair of wide trousers (fig, 
4) ; slip on the wishbone, gather at 
the neck, and sew firmly. The other 
piece may be prettily stitched round 
the bottom (fig. 3), and shirred at 
the neck. This will give the effect 
of a wide cape. 

An addition to the little figure 
can be made by cutting off half the 
small finger of a glove, ornament- 
ing it with the silk, and fitting it 
to the head, to apjiear like some 
Oriental head-dress. (Fig. 5.) 
This triflingand inexpensive little 
\ gift is most amusing, 

not fail to win the 
the person who 
^ - by its oddity 

novelty. 



and certainly can- 
appreciation of 
receives it, 
and its 




76 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



Saginaw, Mich. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Mama gave you lo me for 
Christmns, and I enjoy you so mucli tliai I wisli you 
would come every week. I want to tell you what a 
nice joke you helped me to play. We were jjoing to 
have an exhibition in our scliooi, and 1 had learned a 
jiiece and reciteti it so many limes tliat my big brother 
called it a "chestnut." When your May number came 
witli that cunning ])icce about " Mary .Vnn," I learned 
it, but did not tell a single soul, and the next time my 
teacher asked me to rehearse my jiiece, I got up and 
recited " Mary Ann." How they all laughed, and the 
children clapped, and T thank you very much for helping 
me to make so much fun. Your loving friend, 

HELiiN S. C . 



U. S. Navy Yard, Portsmouth, N. H. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I wrote to you three or four 
years ago, and as my letter was printed I thought I would 
write again. 

Last April a new boat was launched here at Portsmouth 
from No. 5 Ship-house. I was the one who had the 
honor of christening it. At three o'clock I stood on a 
raised platform in front of the bow, and broke the bottle 
of Piscataqua water. The bottle was very pretty, being 
gilded and tied with red, white, and blue ribbons. As I 
broke the bottle just as she started, I called out, " I name 
thee Steam Ferry Launch No. 132." A man was stand- 
ing just under the edge of the platform as the bottle 
broke, and all the water and bits of glass went down his 
neck. He felt very queer, as he thought the salt water 
was wine. The boat is very pretty, and runs back and 
forth between the Yard and Portsmouth. I went on the 
trial trip, and it went very fast, indeed. 

My letter is getting rather long, so I will close now, 
remaining your loving reader, Edith M. B . 



We take pleasure in printing the following interesting 
letter from an appreciative reader : 

Alleghany, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I wonder if you will ever know 
what a delight you are to mothers with small children to 
train and amuse ! My children are j^articularly fond of 
having me read to them, and nothing pleases them so 
well, among their many books, as the arrival of a new 
St. Nick; and, as "brother" sagely remarks, "there 
is no trouble getting mama to read, when it 's the last 
St. Nicholas." No matter what time it comes, mama 
has to take a rocker, and, with sister (aged four) on her 
lap, and brother (past ten) at her side, the leaves are 
cut, and at least a glimpse taken of the treat in store. 
Then the ten bound volumes have to be frequently gone 
over, for fear something has been missed, or to read 
again some old favorite. Brother reads for himself now, 
and sister thinks she can do just as well, when she sits 
on a chair and reads " Marjorie and her Papa," or 
" Elfie's Visit," from memory — only I fear the authors 
would not always recognize their work. But you have 
doubtless heard all this many times from grateful mo- 
thers, and I want to tell the other children a " snake- 
story " which always pleases my "bairns." 



In a recent number, you speak of what a rare thing it 
is to see a snake discard his skin, whicli recalls an exiie- 
rience at the Smithsonian Institution many years ago. My 
father (who was quite a naturalist), my sister, ancl I were 
standing in front of the large glass case, which at that 
time contained a good many specimens of snakes. Most 
of them were lying quietly on the sand, or coiietl in the 
corners ; but one of tlie largest ones seemed very restless, 
and behaved in a peculiar way. Finally, he crawled 
slowly up the trunk of a small tree placed in the 
case, and began running his head in and out of a fork of 
a branch. Quite a crowd had collected by this time, and 
some one exclaimed, " See the queer thing on his head ! " 
and then my father told us to watch closely, and we 
would see an unusual sight. His snakeship wriggled 
and squirmed till the loose skin at the head and neck 
was " wrong side out," and then, witii much care and 
deliberation, looking around w ith a triumphant glance, 
came on through his skin, leaving it fastened in the fork 
of the tree. One of the curious things about it was the 
snake's evident enjoyment of his new fall suit. (It was 
in October.) I don't know whether a small snake called 
him a "dude," or what excited his ire, but in a few min- 
utes there was a royal battle going on, the larger snake 
evidently determined to get his enemy's head down in 
the sand. The little fellow struggled bravely, but he was 
almost conquered when some one ran for a keeper, who, 
running up, seized them, and literally ripped them apart. 
Hinging one to each end of the cage. A little turtle, who 
was gazing at the liattle with outstretched neck and 
wide-open eyes, came a little too near the combatants 
just before the finale, and, receiving a blow from the lash- 
ing tails, was turned on his back, to his apparent surprise 
and disgust. The snakes showed signs of renewing the 
struggle, but there is too much to see in Washington to 
spend all the morning at the snake-house, so we reluc- 
tantly turned away. 

If you think the many readers of dear old St. Nicho- 
L.AS w^ould care to see this " really, truly story," I know 
two of the most devoted who would be charmed to see 
"mama's snake-story" in their favorite book. 

Yours very truly, M . 



Milwaukee. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We are two Mexican girls, 
eight and nine years old, and are staying in Milwaukee. 
We wish to tell you something about our adventures. 
We don't like city life as well as the country, and it is 
hard for us to get used to Milwaukee. 

In Mexico we used to ride up the mountains ; but 
when we came here and went to the woods for the first 
time, we saw some steep hills, but not near as high as 
the mountains. As we saw no burros, and saw some 
very fine American ladies and gentlemen, we asked them 
where the burros were, and tiiey laughed and asked us 
where we came from. We told them from Mexico, and 
went on a little way. We wanted to go down the 
"mountain " (as we called it), so we sat down at the top 
of the hill and slid to the foot. There was a little stream 
at the foot, and, not seeing it, we slid right into it. We 
found it was very warm, so we pulled off our shoes and 
stockings and were going to wade, but we sank in the 
mud up to our knees. The people who saw us laughed 



78 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



at the idea, and thought us very boisterous. Our neitjh- 
bors cannot get used to our noise, but we don't mine! it. 
If this letter is not too long, we would love to have 
you print it. Vour loving readers, 

Ei^iE AND Anna F . 



Easthampton, L. I. 
My Dear St. Nichoijk^s : We thought we would tell 
you how we spend some of our time in making poppy 
dolls. First, take a poppy that has gone to seed, and 
draw a face on it in ink. The little ridge on the top is 
the hair, or you may use it for a hat. Then take a long 




strip of tissue-paper, any color you like, and cut two little 
holes for the arms. The arms are made of matches stuck 
into the poppy. Then the doll is complete excepting a 
ribbon round the waist, if wanted. 

Muriel and Ethel G . 



Bent Mountain, Va. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy twelve years 
old. I live on a spur of the Blue Ridge called Bent 
Mountain. It is a beautiful country, two thousand nine 
hundred feet above the sea-level, and is eighteen miles 
from the new and growang city of Roanoke. 

Bent Mountain is a very wild country, and abounds in 
large and small game. There are numbers of partridges, 
v/oodcocks, squirrels, foxes, and rabbits in the forests ; 
and deer, catamounts, and even wolves and bears are 
seen. Last fall a little girl who lived near us went out 
to gather wild grapes. She was gone so long that lier 
friends became anxious, and went to look for her. After 
a long search they came upon her body, lying beneath a 
grajie-vine. A large bear in the thicket near revealed the 
author of this dreadful deed. I am glad to tell you that 
the bear was punished for his crime by losing his life. 

A kind uncle sends us St. Nicholas, and we enjoy 
it very much. Although my home is on Bent Moun- 
tain, I am going to school this winter in Bel Air, Mary- 
land. \'our interested reader, CoLKS T . 



Santa Barbara, Cal. 
Mv Dear St. Nicholas : I live in Santa Barbara, 
and am twelve years old. Santa Barbara is a beautiful 
place. Our cottage is nearly covered with vines and 
flowers. We have three acres in our door-yard, pas- 
tures, and corrals. 



We have a hen with twenty-one little chickens, but she 
did not hatch them all herself. As other hens would 
hatch them we would give them to her, so we would not 
have so many broods. We have a Scotch collie named 
" Robert Bruce," but we oidy call him Bruce. He is 
very bright. We have two pretty young mares and 
two colts. One mare is an iron-gray named " Hazel," 
and the other is mama's beautiful sorrel mare " Nympha." 
One bay colt is named "Circe," and the other "Daffo- 
dil." Our house is on a knoll ; on both sides it has 
ravines, dry in summer, but in winter roaring tor- 
rents. A great many wild roses, wild morning-glories, 
yellow monkey-flowers, and scarlet Indian pinks grow 
on their banks. We have a little pond in our yard, 
with white water-lilies in it ; and we have a large 
Indian mortar made of stone, which was plowed up 
on a friend's ranch near here, and in which we have 
some blue water-lilies. We have a cat and two pretty 
blond kittens. The ocean bathing here is delightful, and 
many people bathe in the surf every day in the year. I 
ride on horseback nearly every day, and I have ridden 
as many as thirty-five miles in a day without being tired 
at all. 

In the spring the hills are beautiful with the pretty 
wild-flowers, and the brooks are fringed with lovely ferns 
and flowers. Mama and I sleep out of doors summer 
and winter in shelter-hammocks which are rain-proof. 

Our dear friend Miss McC makes me a Christmas 

present of St. Nicholvs. Vour loving friend, 

Constance DeL . 



South Boston, Va. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am eight years old, and have 
taken you a year. I am always looking forward with 
joy to your coming. I want to tell you about " Bunny." 
Bunny was a black-and-white rabbit, and he was very 
fat. I saw him first in the summer of 1890, at my aunt 
Sallie's. When breakfast was ready Bunny would come 
into the dining-room and stand upon his hind legs and 
look at the table until some one would give him a piece 
of bread ; then he would take it out into the passage to 
eat it. He did not think it right to eat with civilized 
people. Bunny would not let any one pick him up, but 
he liked to be rubbed ; he always slept with the cows, 
but he liked the little Jersey calf best of all. They would 
lie in the wagon-shed and sleep for hours. Once I saw 
the calf licking Bunny ; when she came to Bun's long ears 
she began to chew them. It did not hurt at first, but at 
last it did, and Bunny jumped a yard high ; it was funny 
to see him. One Sunday afternoon we were sitting on 
the back porch eating apples, and " Bonny " and her little 
colt " Jim," the big horse, and " Logan," the mule, stooii 
waiting for the cores, wheu Bunny came up hoppety-skip, 
to get his share. But Logan drove him away, and tried 
to stamp on him with his front feet. Bunny is dead now. 
He died of old age. I felt very sorry to hear it. 

Yours truly, QuiNCY M . 



We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
pleasant letters received from them : Jamie M. S., E. C. 
D., A. N. T., Nathan A., Edith N. B., Nettie E. G., Fred. 
J. P., Martha T., Marv C, Laura S., Page F., Elliott W. 
H. [r., Margaret F.'lL, Eleanor G. D., Julia B. F., 
Muriel II., Rita I., Marie B. F., M. M. I., Ethel A. B., 
Morgan B., Lizzie R. J., Nettie H., Edelherty and Dorris, 
Janie P., "Thomas Edward" B. 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES 1\ THE OCTOBER NUMBER. 



Doi'BLE Diamonds. I. Across: i. M. i. Lot. 3. Tares. 4. Bar- 
onet 5. Beset. P. Sit. 7. S. IL Across: i. P. a. Car. 3. Moped. 
4. Ramadan. 5. Regal. 6. Tan. 7. Y. 
.\s.m;kam. William Lloyd (larrison. 
Pi. Wc crown thee witli gold. Queen October, 

We crown tlice with piir]>le to-day ; 
But we leave Kin^ November the ermine 

To wear with his jjarmenis of gray. 
The maples, brave kiii);hts of thy kingdom, 

The oak-trees, thy counselors strong, 
Arc gracefully spreading their mantles 
For the queen they have waited so long. 
Transi-ositio.ns. I. Idols, solid. 2. Trance, nectar. 3. Oration, 
Ontario. 4. Warp, wrap. Initials and fuials. snowdrop 

Cube. From i to 7. Hogarth. From 1 to 2, Hiogo; 2 to 4, opera; 
4 to 7, Allah: 7 to 6, helot : 6 to 3, twang; 3 to i, gnash ; 2 to 5, 
owner: 3 to 5, glair; 5 to 7, reach. 

Bkokhn Letters. " Columbus loved good Nicholas, the saint. 
On his first voyage he named the first port at which he landed in 
Haiti, St. Nicholas." 



Qi OTATioN PizziH. Initials, America, i. Addison (Joseph). 
2. Moore (Clement C). -(. Emerson (Ral^h Waldo). 4. Rogers 
(Samuel). 5. Ingram (John K.). 6. Collins (William). 7. Allen 
(Eliitabeth Akers). 

GbOLKAi'iilCAi. DouiiLE AcROSTic. Prinials, Carcassonne; finals, 
MontpcUier. Cross-words : 1. Cam. 2. Arczzo. 3. Rouen. 4. Con- 
necticut. 5. Antwerp. 6. Seine. 7. Sil. 8. Orel. 9. Novi. 10. Nile. 
II. Exeter. 

Hali--s(.>uare. I. Osceola. 2. Scoria. 3. Copal. 4. Erais. 5. Oil. 
6. La. 7. A. 

Tkii'le Acrostic. From i to 5, Wayne; 6 to 10, Stony; 11 to 
15, Point. From 1 to 6, wheels; 2 to 7, amulet; 3 to 8, Yzaico ; 
4 to 9, nation; 5 to 10, employ; 6 to 11, shrimp; 7 to 12, tomato; 
8 to 13, Ossoli ; 9 to 14, notion ; 10 to 15, ycrnut. 

Combination Pizzi.e. Letters represented by stars, Columbus 
discovered America. Cross-words: i. COLIie. 2. UMber. 3. BUS- 
tard. 4. DIScus. 5. COVEnant. 6. REDeem. 7. AMulet. 8. ERIe. 
9. CAlliope. 

Pentagon, i. S. 2. Sal. 3. Solid. 4. Saluted. 5. Litany. 
6. Dense. 7. Dyed. 



7- 

To oi'R PizzLERs: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Centurv Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

.■\nswers to all the Pi'zzi.ES IN THE AuGfST Ni'.MBER were received, before August 15th, from Paul Reese — "The McC.'s" — 
Ida C. Thallon — The Sewalls — Arthur G. Lewis — Josephine Sherwood — Katie, Jamie, and ^Iama — Xelis — Dalton & Co. — Guion 
Line and Acme Slate Co. — Jo and I — "Infantry" — E. M. G. — Grace Morris — L. O. E. — "Ethel and Mama" — "Uncle Mung" — 
Ida and .Alice — " We Girls." 

.\ns\vers TO PfzzLES IN THE .Xrci'ST NcMBER Were received, before August 15th, from Minnie and Lizzie, i — Eugenic and Helen 
Broeksmit, 2 — Edward S. C, i — Louise and Marie, i — Glowacki and Ralph Parker. 11 — Daphne and Philo, 3 — August, i^ M. L. 
F., 2 — Eleanor L. Nicliolson, 2 — L. Susie Hoag, i — C. Detteror Wilhams, 2 — Rita F., Fannie F., Emily B. B., 3 — M. L. H.. Jr., 1 — 
Naje Rheatun, 2 — ^ Clara M. Cheney, 2 — George S. Seymour, 4 — Ida Young, 3 — Melville Hunneville, 5 — Mary L. H., 2 — Louise E. 
Jones. 2 — May G. and Nannie L., 2 — " Blossom," i — Mama and Lillie, 5 — -Arthur Maxson, 2 — C. D. C, 3 — Hilda W'eber, i — L. O. 
and H. H.. 5 — Carrie Chester, i — Willie H., i — Portia Johnston, i — M. M. C, R. P. R., and R. W. S., 2 — Alice G. Goddard, i — 
Charles S. Townsend and Grace, 4 — "Ren Ketch," 2 — .Agnes M. B., 2 — Constance and Anna, i — Ethel Martin, 3 — Elizabeth C. 
Grant, i — Eleanor and Grace, 10 — Ray Wall & Co., 3 — The Main Stock Co., 6 — " Two Girls and a Boy," 2 — Gv^endolen Reid, 6 — The 
Highmount Girls, 8 — .A. L. T.,T.E. T.. and H. R. H., 2 — Nellie Archer, 8 — Effie K. Talboys, 7 — Elaine S., 2 — Grace Isabel S., 2 — 
H. M. Landgraff, i — Willie D. Fletcher, 2 — Edith M. Derby, 6 — Hubert L. Bingay, 10 — L. Hutton and V. Beede, 11 — Marguerite, 
Annie, and Emily, 5 — Lillian Davis, i — E. T. White, i — A. T. and K. B.. 9 — " Two (Jirls and a Boy "(Kankakee), 3 — Jessie Chap- 
man, 10 — Stella and Teresa, 4 — Gertrude E. Hutchinson (and Papa), 2 — Kearny, i — Rosalie Bloomingdale, 7 — " May and '70." 5 — 
"Two Big Confederates," 10 — Violet and Dora Hereford, 8 ^May G. Martin, 5 — Post-marked " Brooklyn," i — Marie Therese fe, 5 — 
Hattie and Carrie, i — " Rag, Tag. and Bobtail," 3 — •' Pickwick," 3 — C. L., 2 — Laura M. Zinser, 5 — A. O. F., 4 — Ethel and Clrace 



Wheat, 2 — Dottie Dimple Webb, 10 — " Warehani," 11 ■ 
Clara C, 10 — Clara M. Cheney, 2. 

WORD-SQUAKE. 



I. To warble as the Swiss do. 2. A musical drama. 
3. A storehouse. 4. To eat away. 5. A milky or 
colored juice in certain plants. G. F. 

CKCSS-^tVORD ENIG3IA. 

Mv first is in oblong, but not in square; 
My second, in cheating, but not in fair ; 
My third is in merry, but not in sad ; 
My fourth is in temper, but not in mad; 
My fifth is in chorus, but not in air; 
My sixth is in freedom, but not in care ; 
My seventh, in oval, but not in round ; 
My eighth is in surface, but not in ground ; 
My ninth is in censure, but not in blame : 
My whole was a genius of world-wide fame. 

TRIPLE ACROSTIC. 

My first row of letters spells commences ; my last row, 
to interfere ; my central row, a term used in grammar. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. A Greek measure 
of length. 2. Molasses. 3. Projected. 4. Murmured. 
5. Of little value. 6. A spire. xelis. 



■A. O. F., 4 — G., I — Mamma and Charlie, 5 — "A Witch," i — Isabelle and 



below another, in the order here given, the zigzag, begin- 
ning at the upper left-hand corner, will spell a sobriquet 
given to the third president of the United States. 

Cross-words: i. Solitary. 2. .\ sudden and rapid 
invasion by a cavalrv force. 3. A dry, granulated starch 
imported from the East Indies. 4. An intricacy. 5. To 
travel slowly, but steadily. 6. At a distance. 7. To beat 
with a heavy stick. S. A uniting tie. 9. A long, pointed 
tooth. 10. Unyielding courage. II. A two-masted, 
square-rigged vessel. 12. Performs. 13. Impartial. 
14. Otherwise. 15. To thwart. 16. A game played on 
horseback. o. B. G. 

CUBE. 



ANAGRAM. 

A FAMOUS man of letters : 

TO.M AS A BOMB, CHAUNTI.VG A LAY. 
ZIGZ.4G. 

All of the words described contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one 



From I to 2, to affirm ; from I to 3, to store ; from 
2 to 4, glorified ; from 3 to 4, shield-shaped ; from 5 
to 6, the avocet ; from 5 to y, to glitter ; from 6 to 8, 
return ; from 7 to 8, symbols ; from i to 5, a raised ]:)lat- 
form ; from 2 to 6, a Turkish title ; from 4 to 8, entitles ; 
from 3 to 7, subdued. A. C CRETT. 



8o 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 




NUMERICAL ENIGMA. 

I AM composed of one hundred and nine letters, and 
am a quotation from Walter Savage Landor. 

My 63-10-47 is a slight bow. My 70-8-5 9-8 7- 13-81 
is to prevent. My 28-41-17-92 is the husk. My 22- 
45-98-4 is to liquefy. My 72-102-67-34 is to dart along. 
My 106-20-37-83-57-89 is to grab. My 104-74-26-78- 
18-68-84-23 is sometimes " relished by the best of 
men." My 77-65-94-3-60 is imtwisted filaments of silk. 
My 1-49-56-40 is upright. My 31-IOI-75 is an ever- 
green tree. My 107-38-33-15-5-21 is very dull. My 1 1- 
24-85-35-7-96-73-90-61 is a musical instrument. My 
97-43-86 is a marsh. My 27-99-52-12-58-14 is a very 
useful plant which grows in warm climates. My 88-2- 
30-55-79 is a plant once very highly valued in Holland. 
My 51-71-25-64-44-105-36 is a low shrub beloved in 
Scotland. My 32-19-95-91-76-29 is a tropical plant. 
My 42-62-103-9-66 is a common flower wliich blooms 
in the early summer. My 100-82-6-69-93-54-39- 16 
46—53-50-80-48 is an enormous aquatic plant which is 
found in Brazil. c. B. 

PI. 

Rade unmatu sayd, os clam, os twese, 

Keli a gribth, mecewol merymo yuo mees ; 

Os Iful fo sutorniule dan hayz glith, 
Os fost, OS trainad, os keil a madre. 

DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

My primals and finals each name a planet. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. A plotter against 
an existing government. 2, Giving no heed. 3. A com- 
mon vegetable. 4. To fix deeply. 5. A living picture. 
6. A rubbing out. 7. To revive. "zuar." 

RHOMBOIDS. 

I. Across: i. .\ musical drama. 2. To adjudge. 
3. A city mentioned in the book of Samuel. 4. The 
entire sum. 5. To recompense. 

DowNWARO : I. In rosemary. 2. A near relative. 
3. A domestic animal. 4. To rave. 5. Warmth. 6. To 
be excessively fond, 7. A sharp blow. 8. A musical 
note. 9. In rosemary. 

II. Across: i. A measure. 2. A masculine name. 
3. A kind of rampart. 4. To rejuvenate. 5. A drain 
for water. 

Downward: i. In rosemary. 2. A masculine nick- 



name. 3. A sailor. 4. Always. 5. Domineers over. 
6. A native of Denmark. 7. Fresh. 8. A pronoun. 
9. In rosemary. 

Write side by side the first cross-word of each rhom- 
boid, and the ten letters will spell an instrument or 
machine for measuring work done. 

" K. H. OMBOIU." 



DIAMONDS 



CONNECTED BY 
SOUARE. 



A CENTRAL 



I. Uppf.r Diamond: i. In regulate. 2. A boy. 
3. Loaded. 4. Original. 5. To waste away. 6. A 
negative. 7. In regulate. 

il. Li:i"T-HAND Diamond : i. In regulate. 2. A 
gull. 3. Smaller. 4. A military officer. 5. Anxiety. 
6. A line of light. 7. In regulate. 

III. Cknirai- Square: i. A favorite dish for dinner. 

2. A plant. 3. To restrict. 4. Out of the way. 5. To 
hinder. 

IV. Rkwit-hand Diamond: i. In regulate. 2. A 
snare. 3. A beverage. 4. Pertaining to a tile. 5. A 
beautiful flower. 6. To undermine. 7. In regulate. 

V. Lower Diamond: i. In regulate. 2. A globe. 

3. Hatred. 4. Commonplace. 5. To construct. 6. An- 
gry. 7. In regulate. >•• A. s. 



THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 




rniiv usi:n to d 



KIM, l-.VKKV i:vi:MN<-i/ 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XX. 



DECEMBER, 1892. 



No. 2. 



-A 






V :^ 



^^ 



■'>2 



v 






■^.mj^''^'''^^f\ 




^he SOLDIERING 

of 

Beniah stidham. 




By Howard Pyle. 



"Vrr ^ HEN you look at a very 
old man, it seems hard 
to imagine that he was 
ever once a boy, full of 
sport and mischief like the 
boys whom we know nowadays. 

There is a daguerreotype of Beniah Stidham 
that was taken about the year 1850. It is the 
picture of a very, very old man, with a bald, 
bony forehead, and a face full of wrinkles and 
furrows. His lips are sucked in between his 
toothless gums, and his nose is hooked down as 
though to meet his lean chin beneath. 



with a rolling collar and with buttons that 
look like brass. The cuffs of his long, wrinkled 
coat-sleeves come down almost to the knotted 
knuckles, and one skinny hand rests upon the 
top of a hooked cane. It does not seem possi- 
ble that he could ever have been a boy ; but he 
was — though it was away back in the time of 
the Revolutionary War. 

He was about fifteen years old at the time of 
the batde of Brandy wine — that was in the year 
1777. He was then an apprentice in Mr. Con- 
nelly's cooper-shops near Brandywine. His 



father, Amos Stidham, kept a tin-store, and 
In the picture he wears a swallow-tailed coat sometimes peddled tinware and buckets down 

Copyright, 1892, by The Centi'RY Co. All rights reserved- 
83 



84 



THE SOLDIERING OF BEXIAH STIDHAM. 



[Dec. 







in the lower counties and up through Penn- 
sylvania. At that time Beniah was a big. awk- 
ward, loose-jointed, over-grown lad ; he shot uj) 
like a weed, and his clothes were always too 
small for him. His hands stuck far out from 
his sleeves. 
They were 
splay and red, 
and they were 
big like his 
feet. He stut- 
tered when he 
talked, and 
everybody 
laughed at 
him for it. 

Most people 
thought that 
he was slack- 
witted, but he 
was not ; he 
was only verj' 

shy and timid. Sometimes he himself felt that 
he had as good sense as anybody if he only had 
a chance to show it. 

These things happened in Delaware, which 
in those days was almost like a part of Penn- 
sylvania. 

There was a great deal of excitement in Wil- 
mington at the time of the beginning of the 
trouble in Boston, the fight at Lexington, and 
the battle at Bunker Hill. There were enlisted 
for the war more than twenty young fellows 
from Wilmington and Brandy wine Hundred; 
they used to drill every evening in a field at 
the foot of Quaker Hill, where the Meeting- 
house stood and not far from the William Penn 
Inn. A good many people — especially the 
boys — used to go fn the evening to see them 
drill. It seemed to Beniah that if he could 
only go for a soldier he might stand a great 
deal better chance of getting along than he 
had in Wilmington, where every one laughed 
at him and seemed to think that he was lacking 
in wits. 

He had it in his mind a great many times to 
speak to his father about going for a soldier, but 
he could not quite find courage to do so, for he 
felt almost sure that he would be laughed at. 

One night he did manage to speak of it, and 



when he did, it was just as he thought it would 
be. It was just after supper, and they still sat at 
table, in the kitchen. He was nervous, and when 
he began speaking he stuttered more than usual. 
" I wo-wo-wo-wo-wish you 'd 1-let me go fer 

a sis-sis-sis- 
sis-sis- sis -sol- 
dier. Father," 
said he. 

His sister 
Debby burst 
out laughing. 
" A sis-sis-sis- 
sis-soldier ! " 
she mocked. 

" A what : " 
said Beniah's 
father. "You a 
soldier ? You 
would make a 
pretty soldier, 
now, would n't 
you ? Why, you would n't be able to say ' Who 
goes there ? ' fer stutterin' ! " and then Debby 
laughed again, and when she saw that it made 
Beniah angry, she laughed still more. 

So Beniah did not go soldiering that time. 

After the battle of Brandywine, Lord Howe's 
fleet of war-ships came up into the Delaware 
from the Chesapeake Bay, and everybody was 
anxious and troubled, for there was talk that 
the enemy would bombard the town. You 
could see the fleet coming up the bay from the 
hills back of the town — the sails seemed to 
cover the water all over; that was in the after- 
noon, just before supper. That evening a good 
many people left town, and others sent their 
china and silver up into the country for safe 
keeping. 

After supper the bellman went through the 
streets calling a meeting at the Town-hall. 
Captain Stapler was at home at that time and 
spoke to the people. He told them that there 
was no danger of the fleet bombarding the 
town, for the river was two miles away, and 
the cannon could not carry that far. He 
showed them that the only way that the enemy 
could approach the town was up the Christiana 
River, and that if the citizens would build a 



1892.] 



THE SOl.DlKklNC ('K lUlMAII SIIHIIAM. 



8^ 



redoubt at the luad of tlir marsh the phuc ll 
WDuId be perfectly defended. 

'I'he people found a good deal of (oniforl 
in what he said ; but the next morning the 
'* Roebuck" and " Liverpool" ships of svar were 
seen to be lying, with their tenders and two 
transports, opposite the town; and once more all 
the talk was that they were going to boml)ard. 

There \\ as a great deal said that morning at 
the cooper-shops about all this. Some opined 
that the ships were certainly going to bombard, 
but others held that what they would do would 
be to send a regiment of Hessians up the creek 
to burn down the town. 

During the morning, old Billy Jester came up 
from Christiana village, and said that the towns- 
people were building a mud fort down at the 
Rocks below the Old Swedes' Church, and that 
they expected two cannon and some soldiers to 
come down from Fort Mifflin in the afternoon. 
This was a great comfort to 
everybody, for the time. 
About eleven o'clock 
in the morning the 
enemy suddenly 
began firing. 
Boom ! — the 
sudden startling 
noise sounded 
dull and heavy, 
like the falling 
of some great 
weight; the win- 
dows rattled — boom ! — boom! — boom! — and 
then again, after a Httle pause, — boom! — 
boom ! There was a little while, a few seconds 
of breathless listening, and then Tom Pierson, 
the foreman of the shop, shouted : 

" By gum ! they 're bombarding the town ! " 
Then he dropped his adze, and ran out of the 
door without waiting to take his hat. As he 
ran, there sounded again the same dull, heavy 
report — boom ! boom ! 

There was no more work in the cooper-shops 
that day. Beniah ran all the way home. His 
father was just then away in the lower coun- 
ties, and Beniah did not know what was going 
to happen to Debby and his mother. Maybe 
he would find the house all knocked to pieces 
with cannon-balls. Boom ! boom ! sounded 




llie cannon again, and Heniah ran faster and 
faster, his mouth all tlry aiul clammy with fear 
and excitement. The streets were full of peo- 
ple hurrying toward the hills. When he got 
home he -found that no harm had happened, 
but the house was shut and all the doors locked. 
He met Mrs. Frist, and she told him that his 
mother anil Debby had gone uj) to Quaker Hill. 

He found them there a little while later, but 
by that time the war-ships had stopped firing, 
and after a wliile everybody went back home. 

In the afternoon it was known that they had 
not l)een firing at the town at all, but at some 
people who had gone down on the neck to look 
at them, and whom, no doubt, they took to be 
militia or something of the kind. 

Just before supper it was reported that one 
of Jonas Stidham's cows had been killed by 
a cannon-ball. Jonas Stidham was Beniah's 
uncle, and in the evening he went over to look 
at the cow. He met several others going on 
the same errand — two men and three or four 
boys. There was quite a crowd gathered about 
the place. The cow lay on its side, with its 
neck stretched out. There was a great hole in 
its side, made by the cannon-ball, and there 
was blood upon the ground. It looked very 
dreadful, and seemed to bring the terrors of 
war very near; and everybody stood about and 
talked in low voices. 

After he had seen the dead cow, Beniah 
went down to where they were building the 
mud fort. They were just putting the cannon 
into place, and Captain Stapler was drilling a 
company of young men of the town who had 
enlisted for its defense. Beniah 
''' - wished that he was 



-ft.,; 







v.42^^<i^^< 



86 



THE SOLDIERING OF BEMAH STIDIIAM. 



[Dec. 



one of them. After the drill was over, Captain 

Stapler came up to him and said : 

'• Don't you want to enhst, Beniah ?" 
Beniah would not have dared to enlist if 




his father had been at home, but his father 
was away, and he signed his name to the roll- 
book ! 

That was the way that he came to go soldier- 
ing. 

That night Beniah did not go home, for he 
had to stay with the others who had enlisted. 
They were quartered at the barn just back of 
the mud fort. But he sent word by Jimmy 
Rogers that he was not coming home, because 
he had enlisted in Captain Stapler's company. 

However, Captain Stapler let him go home 
the next morning for a little while. He found 
that all the boys knew that he had enhsted, 
and that he was great among them. He had 
to tell each one he met all about the matter. 
They all went along with him — fifteen 
or twenty of them — and waited 
in the street outside while he was 
talking with his family within. His 
mother had gone out, but his sister 
Debby was in the kitchen. 

" Oh, but you '11 catch it when 
daddy comes home ! " said she. 

Beniah pretended not to pay 
any attention to her. 

" When is he coming home ? " 
said he, after a while. 

"■ I don't know, but, mark my 
words, you '11 catch it when he does 
come," said Debby. 




That night they set pickets along the edge 
of the marsh, and then Beniah really began to 
soldier. He took his turn at standing guard 
about nine o'clock. There was no wind, but 
the night was very raw and chill. At first 
Beniah rather liked the excitement of it, but by 
and by he began to get very cold. He remem- 
bered his father's overcoat that hung back of 
the door in the entry, and he wished he had 
brought it with him from home ; but it was too 
late to wish for that now. And then it was 
very lonesome and silent in the darkness of the 
night. A mist hung all over the marsh, and in 
the still air the voices of the men who were 
working upon the redoubt by lantern-light, and 
of the volunteers at their quarters in the barn 
where they had kindled a fire, sounded with 
perfect clearness and distinctness in the still- 
ness. The tide was coming in, and the water 
gurgled and rippled in the ditches, where the 
reeds stood stark and stiff in the gloom. The 
reed-birds had not yet flown south, and their 
sleepy " cheep, cheeping " sounded incessantly 
through the darkness. 

The moon was about rising, and the sky, to 
the east, was lit w^th a milky paleness. Toward 
it the marsh stretched away into the distance, 
the thin tops of the nearer reeds just showing 
above the white mysterious veil of mist that 
covered the water. It was all very strange and 
lonesome, and when Beniah thought of home 
and how nice it would be to be in his warm 
bed, he could not help wishing that he had not 
enlisted. And then he certainly would " catch 
it " when his father came home, as Debby had 
said he would. It was not a pleasant prospect. 
By and by the moon rose, and 
at the same time a breeze sprang 
up. It grew colder than ever, and 
presently the water began to splash 
and dash against the river-bank be- 
yond. The veil of mist disap- 
])eared, and the water darkled and 
flashed with broken shadows and 
sparks of light. Beniah's fingers 
holding the musket felt numb and 
dead. He wondered how much 
longer lie would have to stay on 
guard ; he felt as though he had 
been there a long time already. 



'89-'] 



THE SOl.DIIKING OF HKNIAH STIDHAM. 



He crouched down unckr tlic lee of the river- 
bank, and in the corner of a fence whicli stood 
there to keep the cows ot^" of the marsh. 

He had been there maybe five minutes, and 
was growing very sleepy with the coUl, when he 
suddenly heard a sharp sound, and instantly 
started wide awake. It was the sound as of an 
oar striking against the side of a boat. There 
was something very strange in the sharp rap 
ringing through the stillness, and whoever had 
made it had evidently not intended to do so, 
for the after stillness was unbroken. 

Beniah crouched in the fence-corner, listening 
breathlessly, intensely. He had forgotten all 
about being cold and sleepy and miserable. 
He felt that his heart was beating and leap- 
ing unevenly, and his breath came quickly, as 
though he had been running. Was the enemy 
coming ? What should he do ? 

He did not move ; he only crouched there, 
trying to hold his breath, and trying to still the 
beating of his heart with his elbow pressed 
against his ribs. He was afraid that if there 
was another sound he might miss hearing it 
because of his labored breathing and the pulses 
humming in his ears. He gripped his musket 
with straining fingers. 

There was a pause of perfect stillness. Then 
suddenly he heard a faint splash as though 
some one had stepped incautiously into the 
water. Again there was stillness. Then some- 
thing moved in the reeds — maybe it was a 
regiment of Hessians ! Beniah crouched lower, 
and poked his musket through the bars of the 
fence. What would happen next ? He won- 
dered if it was all real — if the enemy was ac- 
tually coming. 

Suddenly the reeds stirred again. Beniah 
crouched down still lower. Then he saw some- 
thing slowly rise above the edge of the river- 
bank, sharp-cut and black against the milky 
sky. It was the head of a man, and it was 
surmounted by a tall conical cap — it was the 
sort of a cap that the British soldiers wore. As 
Beniah gazed, it seemed to him as though he 
had now stopped breathing altogether. The 
head remained there motionless for a while, as 
though listening ; then the body that belonged 
to it slow^ly rose as though from the earth, and 
stood, from the waist up black against the sky. 



Heniah tried to say, "Who goes there?" and 
then he found that what his father had said was 
true; he could not say the words for stutter- 
ing. He was so excited that he could not utter 
a sound; he would have to shoot without say- 
ing, " Who goes there ? " There was nothing 
else to do. He aimed his eye along the barrel 
of his musket, but it was so dark that he could 
not see the sights of the gun very well. Should 
he shoot ? He hesitated for an intense second 
or two — then came a blinding flash of resolve. 

He drew the trigger. 

Bang ! 

For a moment he was deafened and bewil- 
dered by the report and the blinding flash of 
light. Then the cloud of pungent gunpowder- 
smoke drifted away, and his senses came back 
to him. The head and body were gone from 
against the sky. 

Beniah sprang to his feet and flew back to- 
ward the mud fort, yelling he knew not what. 
It seemed as though the whole night was peo- 
pled with enemies. But nobody followed him. 
Suddenly he stopped in his flight, and stood 
again listening. Were the 
British following 







him ? No, they were not. He heard alarmed 
voices from the fort, and the shouting of the 
pickets. A strange impulse seized him that he 
could not resist : he felt that he must go back 
and see what he had shot. He turned and 
crept slowly back, step by step, pausing now 
and then, and listening intently. By and by he 
came to where the figure had stood, and, cran- 
ing his neck, peeped cautiously over the river- 



88 



THE SOLDIERlXti OF BENIAII STIDHAM. 



[Dec. 



bank. The moon slione bright on the rippHng wound was in tlie neck, and it was not espe- 

water in a little open place in the reeds. There cially dangerous. No doubt the man had been 

was something black lying in the water, and as stunned by the ball when it struck him. 

Beniah continued looking at it, he saw it move The Hessian was a young man. " Sprechen 

with a wallowing si)lash. Then he ran away sie Deutsch ? " asked he, but nobody undcr- 

shoutinu and velhng. stood him. 



Captain Stapler thought that an attack would 
surely be made, but it was not; and, after a 
while, he ordered a company from the mud 
fort out along the river-bank, to see who it was 
that Beniah had shot. They took a lantern 
along with them, and Beniah went ahead to 
show them where it was. 

" Yonder 's the place," said he ; " and I 
fu-fired my gi-gi-gi-gi-gun from the fa-fa-fence, 
ja-just here." 

Captain Stapler peered down among the 
reeds. "By gum!" said he, "he 's shot some- 
thing, sure 
enough." 
He went 
cautiously 
down the 
bank ; then 
he stooped 
over, and 
soon lifted 
something 
that lay in 
the water. 
Then there 
was a groan. 

"Come down here, two or three of you!" 
called out Captain Stapler. " Beniah 's actually 
shot a man, as sure as life ! " 

A number of the men scrambled down the 
bank ; they lifted the black figure ; ii groaned 
again as they did so. They carried it up and 
laid it down upon the top of the bank. The 
clothes were very muddy and wet, but the light 
of the lantern twinkled here and there upon 
the buttons and braid of a uniform. Captain 
Stapler bent over the wounded man. " By gra- 
cious!" said he, "it 's a Hessian — like enough 
he 's a spy." Beniah saw that the blood was 
running over one side of the wet uniform, and 
he was filled with a sort of terrible triumph. 
They carried the wounded man to the bam, 
and Dr. 'i'aylor came and looked at him. The 




The next morning Beniah's father came 
home. He did not stop to ungear the horse, 
but drove straight down to the mud fort in his 
tinware cart. He was very angry. 

"What 're you doing here, anyhow?" said 
he to Beniah ; and he caught him by the collar 
and shook him till Beniah's hat slipped down 
over one eye. " What 're you doin' here, any- 
how — killin' and shootin' and murtherin' folks? 
You come home with me, Beniah — you come 
home with me ! " and he shook him again. 
" He can't go," said Captain Stapler. " You 

can't take 
him, Am- 
os. He 's 
enlisted, 
and he 's 
signed his 
name up- 
on the roll- 
book." 
" I don't 



-^ 



care a rap 

what he 's 

signed," 

saidAmos. 

" He hain't goin' to stay here shootin' folks. 

He 's got to come home along with me, he has." 

And Beniah went. 

Nobody knows what happened after he got 
home, and Beniah did not tell; but next day he 
went back to work at the cooper-shoj)s again. 
All the boys seemed glad to see him, and 
wanted to know just how he shot the Hessian. 
A good many people visited the wounded 
Hessian down in the barn the day he had been 
shot. Among others came " Dutch Charlie," 
the cobbler. He could understand what the 
Hessian said. He told Captain Sta])ler that 
the man was not a spy, but a deserter from the 
transport-ship in the river. It seemed almost 
a pity that the man had not been a spy ; but, 
after all, it did not make any great difference in 



1892.) 



Tin: SOI.DIKKINC. OF liKMAII STinilAM, 



89 



the way people loukeil on what Beiiiah Stid- and made money, and llie tjueerest part of the 



ham hail done; for the fact remainetl that he 
was a Hessian. And nobody thought of hiugh- 
ing at Heniah, even when he stuttered in tell- 
ing how he slioi him. 

After a while the Hessian got well, and then 
he started a store in Philadelphia. He did well. 



whole business was that he married iJebby 
Stidham — in spite of its having been Beniah 
who shot him in the neck. 

This is the story of Beniah Stidham's sol- 
diering. It lasted only two nights and a day, 
l)Ut he got a great deal of glory by it. 




THE BLOOM OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE. 



By Mary Mapes Dodge. 



At night we planted the Christmas tree 
In the pretty home, all secretly; 
All secretly, though merry of heart, 
\\'ith many a whisper, many a start. 
(For children who 'd scorn to make believe 
May not sleep soundly on Christmas Eve.) 

And then the tree began to bloom. 
Fining with beauty the conscious room. 
The branches curved in a perfect poise, 
Laden with wonders that men call " toys," 
Blooming and ripening (and still no noise), 
Until we merry folk stole away 
To rest and dream till dawn of day. 

In the morning the world was a giri and a boy. 

The universe only their shouts of joy. 

Till every branch and bough had bent 

To yield the treasure the Christ-child sent 

And then — and then — the children flew^ 

Into our arms, as children do. 

And whispered, over and over again. 

That oldest, newest, sweetest refrain, 

" I love you ! I love you ! Yes, I love yoi/ .' " 
And hugged and scrambled, as children do. 
And we said in our hearts, all secretly : 

" T/iis is the bloom of the Christmas tree ! " 



.v> 




A 



rf'^Holly - Berry 






?\iftletoe 




By M. Carrie Hyde. 



THE EXEUNT. 

" Lost ! Lost ! Lost ! Ah, woe is me ! 
Sir Charles's home will vacant be." 

So dirged Holly-berry, his twinkling eyes 
upon his master, who sat like a man of stone, 
in a high-backed chair near a table, on which 
was a side of venison, untasted, a mug of 
home-brew, untouched. 

"Get you to Limbo, you brainless jester!" 
roared Sir Charles Charlock, starting up in his 
chair at the sound of Hollyberry's piping voice, 
and bringing down his fist upon the table with 
a bang that set the dishes to dancing, and the 
glasses into a tinkling shiver. "You are the 
maddest madcap I have e'er beheld; let me 
not see you again this night!" 



Holly-berry drew down one point of his 
comical cap till it touched his chin, winked 
his eye merrily at Sir Charles Charlock, which 
was fifteenth century for " That 's all right," 
turned a somersault down the length of the 
room toward the doorway, through which he 
disappeared witii a cart-wheel, topped off with 
a hand-spring, that took the scarlet-dressed, 
white polka-dotted little jester oft" the scene 
with pyrotechnic eftect. 

He was well contented. He had roused his 
loved master out of his fit of dense gloom to 
utter the first words he had si)oken that day. 

A large staghound, which had been resting 
his head on his fore paws before the roaring 
logs in the fire])lace, slowly got up from his 
sleeping-jilace, and, with a low whine, crept to 
Sir Charlock, and, laying his nose on his master's 



H01.I.V-1!KKK\- AM) MISTI.KTOE. 



91 



knci', looked iip into his gloom)' face with giicl- 
si)eaking eyes. 

" Away with you alst) ! " cried Sir Charles. 
"'T is worse than the jester's dirging to have 
your eyes so sorrowingly hold me to account"; 
and at a threat of his high-booted foot, the 
staghound slunk away through the hall iloor. 

" Mind it not," said Holly-berry, stroking 
the hound's long ears. '• 'T is far better he 
should be holding high carnival with his toes, 
than to sit there as sodden as unyeasted bread. 
Perchance, Mistress Bertha, you may bring 
him to his feet in a better spirit, if yoii but 
try it." 

Bertha shrank. She was a winsome Saxon 
maid, who but two months before had so 
roused her fother's wrath by confessing her 
attachment to Sir Egbert Traymore of Twin 
Towers, that she felt as if offering herself for 
slaughter, if she approached the angry father 
now; still, she went. 

" Father," she said, entering the room through 
a door to which his back was turned, and 
going toward him with halting step, " Ethelred 
may yet be found; this is but the third day of 
his absence. Eat, and then can you better 
think where next to search for him." 

" Silly maid, begone with your jirating. Is it 
not you who first brought trouble upon us, with 
your friend Egbert Traymore ? As if a feud, 
mellowing three hundred years 'twixt Tray- 
mores and Charlocks, were not enough to 
silence you whenever you would say 'Egbert'! 
\\niat boots it, if one has an enmity for ten 
generations and keeps not to it ? Begone, with 
your soft words, your prattling ways and baby 
face." And, rising. Sir Charles frowned upon 
her so sternly that in her haste to leave him, 
she stumbled along the floor, swayed, then 
regained herself, and disappeared through the 
door as quickly as had either Holly-berry or 
the hound. 

" 'T is no use ! " she exclaimed, and she ran 
up-stairs weeping, while her father threw him- 
self upon a deerskin-covered bench, and lay 
perfectly still. 

" By my cap and bells, that is bad ! " said 
Holly-berry, peering in through the door-crack, 
troubled by the complete silence ; while the 
staghound wedged the door still further open 



with his long nose, and going into the room, 
lay so (juietly down upon the iloor beside the 
bench that Sir Charles did not know he was 
there. 

" \^y his spear and cross-bow ! " said Holly- 
berry to himself, ''this is worse than ever, to see 
him there lying like that! I must stir my wits, 
to see what can be done," and he laid his finger 
against his nose, in deep reflection, just as the 
scuffling of heavy boots, the clanking of long 
swords, antl the smoking of flambeaux, in the 
broad oak hall, announced the arrival of the 
last searching-party; but they had returned as 
fruitlessly as they had come in three times in 
the last three days. 

" 'T is no use," they said dejectedly; "lad 
Ethelred, alive or dead, is not to be found 
within thirty miles of Charlock Castle." 

The staghound raised his head and howled 
dolorously. 

" Zounds ! " cried Sir Charles Charlock, " I 
have a mind to hang some witch to-morrow, — 
for surely this mystery is of such brewing." 

And this was upon the nineteenth day of 
December, 1492, when Henry VII. of England 
wore a white and red rose in his buttonhole, 
and watched with pride the progress of his son, 
baby Henry VIII., in walking and talking; 
when Charles VIII. of France was crossing 
swords with Germany, because he had not 
married to its satisfaction; and when Ferdinand 
and Isabella sat upon the throne of Spain, and 
wondered if Columbus would return, and if his 
" new world " were worth the queen's necklace 
and diamonds. 

II. MISTLETOE. 

Ah ! Dame Mistletoe, where, tell me where, 

Can be found our young master, Lord Charlock's heir. 

Holly-berry drew farther back into the cor- 
ner. He did not wish to be seen when so 
deeply reflecting, because for Holly-berry to be 
seen anywhere was for him to be expected to 
go off in a whir of acrobatics, or to be placed 
on a bench, or a table, or some other high 
point, and asked for a joke, a riddle, or a bit 
of fun from his busy brain. 

Yet Holly-berry could be sober and in ear- 
nest, as he was this evening ; for his good httle 
heart, grieving for the sorrow in the household 



92 



HOLI.V-BERRV AND M ISTI.KTOE. 



[Dec. 



was helping his bright little brains to ///////• — to Point fifth was the most troublesome. It was 

think hard. a hartl knot, he told himself, and he clinched 

He laid the live jioints of the case, upon the his wits ujjon it, for fifteen minutes — a half- 

fmgers of his left hand. The first point, which hour, until, indeed, the searching-party had dis- 




he tried to fix upon his thumb, was that luhel- 
red Charlock, aged nine years, only son and 
heir of Sir Charles Charlock, the pride of his 
father's heart, the light of his mother's eyes, 
the delight of his sister's life, and the pet of 
the household, was lost. 

The seconfl jjoint, and he laid tiie dexter 
index finger upon the sinister index finger em- 
jjhatically, was, that hkhelred iiiust be found. 

Point third was, hoiv to find him. 

Point fourth was, to get about it at once. 

Point fifth was, how to get about it at once. 



banded and retired, leaxinn him alone in the 
broad hall. Then the idea came. He sprang 
nimbly to his feet. 

" I will go and ask Mistletoe what to do," 
he said. And throwing a cloak over his shoul- 
ders, he stole softly out into the lonely, cold, 
moonlit night. It was a white night, too, for 
a snow had fallen during the day, and lay like 
royal ermine upon the turrets and towers of 
C'harlock Castle, like a ruching of s\van'.s-down 
upon the S(iuare-cut battlements, the garden- 
hedges, and the limbs of the trees. 



i6gi.] 



HOLLY-BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



93 



The moon, but a crescent, peered through 
the tops of the trees, decorating the white 
snt)\v with shadow-etcliings of the branches, 
the bushes, and the dense evergreens. 

Holly-berry whistled under his breath at the 
weird beauty of the night, omitted his cus- 
tomary hand-spring, and, taking his cap in his 
hand, for fear the jingle of the little bells 
around its edge would ilraw allciitioii to him, 
ran briskly down the path to the road, down 
the road half a mile to a dense grove in 
which some deer were grazing upon the bush- 
tops; then, turning abruptly to the east, he 
hurried along under the trees, and at length, 
quite out of breath, found himself nearing a 
group of three fine large oaks, as alike as the 
stars in Orion's belt, their branches draped with 
mistletoe, intermingling affectionately in a rustic 
bower above a little cottage. So small and ob- 
scure was the cottage that it might readily have 
been passed unnoticed by a wayfarer. 

Still it showed no want 
of actual comfort ; it was 
as tautly built as the sides 
of a sailing vessel, the roof 
was warmly thatched, while 
both firelight and candle- 
light met the moonlight, 
between the neat dimity 
curtains looped back from 
the one narrow window, 
upon its front. 

Holly-berry tapped gent- 
ly upon the green-painted 
door and called : 

"Halloo, Dame Mistle- 
toe, are you within ? " 

" Where else should I be, 
Holly child ? " she replied, 
opening the door, "and come you in also. 
Right glad am I to see you, and hear news 
from the castle yonder." 

Kicking his long, pointed shoes against the 
door-sill, to remove every jjarticle of snow from 
them, Holly-berry entered and took a seat 
upon the bench she placed for him before the 
crackling fire. 

" Where is your nimble tongue ? " she asked, 
vainly waiting for Holly-berry to speak first, 
"and where the sprig of holly-berry you al- 



way wear so gaily at your belt? I fear it 
betokens ill luck to .see you without it"; and 
she took a seat opposite him. 

" It IS ill luck, then, dear Dame Mistletoe," 
answered .the little jester slowly. "You have 
hit it at once. Our young Ethelred, of Char- 
lock castle, has been lost, and though this be 
the third day of his missing, not one wortl has 
been learned of his whereabouts. His father is 
daft with grief; his mother pining; his sister cry- 
ing; and a sorry time is u|)on us all, ujj at the 
castle. Therefore came I at once to you. Please 
then, good 
Dame Mistle- 
toe, tell me 
if you can, 
what has got 
our little man, 
and where we 
can find him." 




PERCHAN'CE, MISTRESS BERTHA, YOU 

MAV BRING HIM TO HIS FEET 

IN A BETTER Sl'IKIT, IF 

YOU BUT TKY IT." 



M istletoe 
pushed back 
her chair with 
a show of im- 
patience, and 
set straight, 
though needlessly, the high, steeple-crowned 
head-dress which she wore indoors and out, 
and looked hard at her small visitor. 

She was an old woman, but wise and kindly. 
By the lads and lassies of the region she was much 



94 



HOLLY- BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



[Dec. 



beloved, for she mended their disputes, stacked 
hay with them upon the meadow, or raked the 
field from sun-up to sun-down, as strong and 
wiry as any lad near her, checkmating his jest- 
ing with a pleasantry of her own, or giving him 
a word of healing when his fingers bled from 
awkward handling of the scythe. Time had for- 




"THE HARDI-HOODS have stolen VOl'R YOUNG MASTER. 

gotten to embed wrinkles in the waxy whiteness 
of her complexion, and a silvery grayness in 
her eyes and hair made the name Mistletoe, 
which had befallen her, most fitting. Her nose 
and chin hooked somewhat toward each other, 
but this did not interfere with the sweet and 
placid expression of her face. 

" I am not a soothsayer, nor yet a witch," she 
emphasized, "that I can tell what I do not 
know. What wot I of the pretty lad, save that 
he has not been this way for many a day, nor 
is he in these woods?" 

" 'I'hat is but telling what we already know," 
responded Holly-berry. " Sir Charles and his 
searchers found out two days agone that this 
wood held no Ethelred for them. Come you, 
good Mistletoe, put on your thinking-cap, and 



help me to divine the cause of his taking-off in 
this strange manner." 

Misdetoe sdll looked hard at Holly -berry. 
" What has become of those robber wights 
called the Hardi-Hoods? " she asked. 

" Sir Charles broke up their den and drove 
thcin thence, as you know," answered Holly- 
berry somewhat testily. 
" Went they willing- 
ly ? " she questioned. 

" In sooth, you ask 
only what you know," 
replied Holly-berry. 
" Did you not hear them 
call down a thousand 
maledictions on Sir 
Charles's head, and 
promise him a bitter 
revenge for his treat- 
ment of them ? " 

" Where now are the 
outlaw Hardi-Hoods?" 
she queried further, push- 
ing her chair nearer the 
fire as the wind rattled 
the door-latch and whis- 
tled down the chimney. 
" Some say they are 
fled to the Western Isles; 
others, that they have 
snugly hid themselves in 
the fastnesses of the 
north or east country ; 
but I am not a soothsayer, nor yet a witch " ; and 
he shrugged his shoulders in mild mockery, as 
he spread his fingers to the fire. " What should 
I know of them ? " 

"Holly-berry," said Dame Mistletoe, seri- 
ously, " are your brains addled, or why ask you 
me, 'Where is Ethelred ' ? The Hardi-Hoods' 
revenge is this, — they have .stolen your young 
master." 

Holly-berry smote his head with both hands. 
" Plague take nic to the Western Isles ! " he 
cried; "of course 't is so, and 't is this that 
so works upon Sir Charles, for he knows 
not where they have betaken themselves, nor 
whether or no they have already slain the 
little lad. Now, tell me, kind Mistletoe; you 
who are so learned in the past and present, 



— -^^ffc^ 



i89J.] 



UOLl.V-HKKRV AND MISTLETOE. 



95 



though no soothsayer, you who are so wise, 
though no witch, tell me, I pray you, how to 
find these robber Harili- Hoods — my thoughts 
run thick as mud." 

" In years gone by," she said, smiling kindly 
at Holly-berry, as she noted his earnest face, 
" the Charlock house was kind to mo and mine. 
To-day they are as good to me, building this 
cottage here for mc upon tiiis land, exacting no 
rental, and sending me many a load of wood, 
cut to fit within my fire-jambs. To-morrow 
morning I will start out in (picst of these 
Hardi-Hoods, and it is more than perchance I 
shall fall upon a clue to guide us to their hid- 
ing-place. Go you back to Sir Charlock, with 
not one word of this to him, and in three days 
bespeak me here again, at this hour." 

Holly-berry sprang to his feet. " Goo<l Dame 
Mistletoe ! " he exclaimed, " you go not alone 
on this search? Let me go too." 



" No," she said, shaking her head so emphat- 
ically that the tall steeple-crown toppled to one 
side. " I may have reasons for my refusal you 
wot not of, and 't will be your place to stay 
at home, and mind that Sir Charlock brings 
no further grief to pass through his high-tem- 
pereil sorrow." 

'* Kind Dame Mistletoe, I will obey you," 
said Holly-berry, doffing his caj) and bowing 
gallantly. " I am off at once to do your bidding. 
Let not the suspense last but three days, and 
you have my best wishes for safety and success 
in your undertaking." 

With a final wave of his caj) in farewell, the 
little jester was out of sight in a star-twinkle. 
Jack Frost pinching his cheeks to a rainbow red 
and decking his doublet with a glitter of frost 
spangles before he had run the long mile 
which lay between Charlock castle and the 
three oaks. 



(To be coutiiuicd. ) 



I 



<*i- 




I 



I 







A co/.v corm:k. 

FROM T!IK I'lCTlRF. IIV FRANK MILLFT. BY I'KRMISSION OF THE METROPOLITAN Ml'SEl'M OF ART, NEW YORK. 

y6 



POLLY ()livp:r's pk()Blp:m. 



liV K.MK DolMM.AS WuiGIN. 
Author of " The Birds' Christmas Carol,'' " ./ Summer in a Ca/io/t," etc. 




[KfguH in till- .\'('7'(V«/'.-r iiiimbcr.] 

Chapter III. 

THE DOCTOR OIVES POLLY A PRESCRIPTION. 

\ILY as the sum- 
mer wore 
away Mrs. 
Oliver grew 
more and more 
languid, until 
at length she 
was forced to 
ask a widowed 
neighbor, Mrs. 
Chadwick, to 
come and take 
the housekeeping cares until she should feel 
stronger. But beef-tea and drives, and salt- 
water bathing and tonics, seemed to do no 
good, and at length there came a day when 
she had not sufficient strength to sit uj). 

The sight of her mother actually in bed in 
the daytime gave Polly a sensation as of a 
cold hand clutching at her heart, and she ran 
for Ur. Edgerton in an agony of fear. But 
good " Dr. George " (as he was always called, 
because he began practice when his father, the 
old doctor, was still living) came home with 
her, cheered her by his hopeful view of the case, 
and asked her to call at his office that afternoon 
for some remedies. 

After dinner was over, Polly kissed her sleej)- 
ing mother, laid a ro.se on her pillow for good- 
by, and stole out of the room. 

Polly's heart was heavy as she walked into 
the office where the Doctor sat alone at his 
desk. 

" Good-day, my dear ! " he said cordially, as 
he looked up, for she was one of his prime 
favorites. " Bless my soul, how you do grow, 
child ! Why, you are almost a woman ! " 
Vol. XX.— 7. 



" 1 am (juite a woman," said Polly, with a 
choking sensation in her throat, " and you have 
something to say to me, Dr. George, or you 
would n't have asked me to leave mama and 
come here this stifling day; you would have 
sent the medicine by your boy." 

Dr. George put down his pen in mild amaze- 
ment. " You are a woman, in every sense of 
the word, my dear ! Bless my soul, how you 
do hit it occasionally, you sprig of a girl ! 
Now, sit by that window, and we '11 talk. 
What I wanted to say to you is this, Polly. 
Your mother must have an entire change. Six 
months ago I tried to send her to a rest-cure, 
but she refused to go anywhere without you, 
saying that you were her best tonic." 

Two tears ran down Polly's cheeks. 

" Tell me that again, please," she said softly, 
looking out of the window. 

" She said — if \ou will have the very words, 
and all of them — that you were sun and stimu- 
lant, fresh air, medicine, and nouri.shment, and 
that she could not exist without those indispens- 
ables, even in a rest-cure." 

Polly's head went down on the window-sill 
in a sudden pa.ssion of tears. 

" Hoity-toity ! that 's a queer way of receiving 
a compliment, young woman I " 

She tried to smile through her April shower. 

" It makes me so happy, yet so unhappy. Dr. 
George. Mama has been working her strength 
away so many years, and I 've been too little to 
know it, and too little to prevent it, and now 
that I am grown up I am afraid it is too late ! " 

" Not too late, at all," said Dr. George, 
cheerily ; " only we must begin at once and 
attend to the matter thoroughly. Your mother 
has been in this southern climate too long, for 
one thing; she needs a change of air and scene. 
San Francisco will do, though it 's not what 
I should choose. She must be taken entirely 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



98 

away from her care, and from everything that 
will remind her of it ; and she must live quietly, 
where she will not have to make a continual 
effort to smile and talk to people three times 
a day. Being agreeable, polite, and good-tem- 
pered for fifteen years, without a single lapse, 
will send anybody into a decline. You '11 never 
go that way, my Polly ! Now, excuse me, but 
how much ready money have you laid away ? " 

" Three hundred and twelve dollars." 

" Whew ! " 

" It is a good deal," said Polly, with modest 
pride ; " and it would have been more yet if we 
had not just painted the house." 

" • A good deal ! ' my poor lambkin I — I hoped 
it was $1012 at least; but, however, you have 
the house, and that is as good as money. The 
house must be rented at once, — furniture, board- 
ers, and all, — as it stands. It ought to bring $85 
or $95 a month in these rimes, and you can 
manage on that, with the $312 as a reserve." 

- What if we should get to San Francisco 
and the tenant should give up the house ? " 
asked Polly, with an absolutely new gleam of 
caution and business in her eye. 

" Braval Why do I attempt to advise such 
a capable little person ? Well, in the first place, 
there are such things as leases; and, in the 
second place, if your tenant should move out 
the agent must find you another in short order, 
and you will live, meanwhile, on the reserve 
fund. But, joking aside, there is very little risk. 
It is going to be a great winter for Santa Bar- 
bara, and your house is attractive, convenient, 
and excellently located. If we can get your 
affairs into such shape that your mother will 
not be anxious, I hope, and think, that the 
entire change and rest, together with the bra- 
cing air, will work wonders. I shall give you a 
letter to a physician, a friend of mine, and for- 
tunately I shall come up once a month during 
the winter to see an old patient who insists on 
retaining me just from force of habit." 

" .And in another year. Dr. George, I shall be 
ready to take care of mama myself; and then 

" She shall sit on a cushion, and sew a fine seam, 
And feast upon strawberries, sugar, and cream." 

"Assuredly, my Polly, assuredly." The Doc- 
tor was pacing up and down the office now, 



[Dec. 



hands in pockets, eyes on floor. " The world 
is your oyster ; open it, my dear, open it. By 
the way" (with a sharp turn), "what do you 
propose to open it with ? " 

" I don't know yet, but not with boarders. 
Dr. George." 

" Tut, tut, child ; must n't despise small 
things ! " 

" Such as Mr. Greenwood," said Polly, irre- 
pressibly, " weight two hundred and ninety 
pounds; and Mrs. Darling, height six feet one 
inch ; no, I '11 try not to." 

" Well, if there 's a vocation it will ' call,' you 
know% Polly. I 'd rather like you for an assis- 
tant, to drive my horse and amuse my con- 
valescents. Bless my soul ! you 'd make a 
superb nurse, except — " 

" Except what, sir ? " 

"You 're not in equilibrium yet, my child — if 
you know what I mean. You are either up or 
down — generally up. You bounce, so to speak. 
Now, a nurse must n't bounce ; she must be 
poised, as it were, or suspended betwixt and 
between, like Mahomet's coffin. But thank 
Heaven for your high spirits, all the same ! 
They will tide you over many a hard place, and 
the years will bring the yoke soon enough, 
Polly," and here Dr. George passed behind 
the girl's chair and put his two kind hands 
on her shoulders — "Polly, can you be really 
a woman ? Can you put the little-girl days 
bravely behind you ? " 

" I can. Dr. George." This in a very trem- 
bling voice. 

" Can you settle all these details for your 
mother, and assume responsibilities ? Can you 
take her away, as if she were the child and 
you the mother, all at once ? " 

" I can ! " This more firmly. 

" Can you deny yourself for her, as she has 
for you ? Can you keep cheerful and sunny ; 
can you hide your fears, if there should be 
cause for any in your own heart ? Can you 
be calm and strong, if — " 

" No, no ! " gasped Polly, dropping her head 
on the back of the chair and shivering like a 
leaf — "no, no; don't talk about fears, Dr. 
(ieorge. She will be better. She will be better 
very soon. I could not live — " 

" It is n't so easy to die, my child, with 



.89^.] 



roi.i.v ()|.i\i;ks I'Ruijj.km, 



99 



plenty of warm )ouiig lilooil riiiiiiin^^ pcll-iiR-ll 
througli your \ciiis, aiul a sixteen-) eai-i)l(l heart 
that beats Uke a chronometer." 

" 1 ei)iilil not bear Hfe without mama, Dr. 
(ieorge ! " 

"A hinnan being, made in tlie image of God, 
can bear anything, child ; but I hope you won't 
have to bear that sorrow for many a long year 
yet. I will come in to-morrow and coax your 
mother into a full assent to my plans ; inean- 
while, fly home with your medicines. There was 




POLI.Y AND THE DOCTOR. 



a time when you used to give my tonics at 
night and my sleeping-draughts in the morning ; 
but I believe in you absolutely from this day." 
Polly put her two slim hands in the kind 



with her tearful e\es, said, '• Dear Dr. CJeorge, 
you may believe in me — indeetl, indeed you 
may ! " 

Dr. (ieorge looked out of his office window 
and mused as his eyes followed I'oUy up the 
shaded walk under the pepper-trees. 

"Oh! these young things, these young things, 
how one's heart yearns over them I " he sighed. 
" There she goes, full tilt, notwithstanding the 
heat ; hat swinging in her hand instead of being 
on her pretty head; her heart bursting with 
fond schemes to keep 
that precious mother 
alive ! It 's a splen- 
did nature, that girl's ; 
one that is in danger 
of being wrecketl by 
its own impetuosity, 
but one so full and 
rich that it is capable 
of bubbling over and 
enriching all the dull 
and sterile ones about 
it. Now, if all the 
money I can rake 
and scrape need not 
go to those languid, 
boneless children of 
my languid, boneless 
sister-in-law, I could 
put that brave little 
girl on her feet. I 
think she will be able 
to do battle with the 
world so long as she 
has her mother for 
a motive-power. The 
question is, how will 
she do it w ithout ? " 

Chapter IV. 

THE ROARDERS STAY, 
AND THE OLIVERS GO. 

Dr. George found 
Mrs. OHver too ill to 
be anything but reasonable. After a long talk 
about her own condition and Polly's future, she 
gave a somewhat tearful assent to all his plans 
for their welfare, and agreed to make the change 



doctor's, and, looking up into his genial face when a suitable tenant was found for the house 



lOO 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



[Dfx. 



So Polly eased the anxiety that gnawed at 
her heart by incredible energy in the direction of 
house-cleaning; superintending all sorts of scrub- 
bings, polishings, and renovating of carpets with 
the aid of an extra Chinaman, who was fresh 
from his native rice-fields and stupid enough to 
occupy any one's mind to the exclusion of other 
matters. 

Each boarder in turn was asked to make a 
trip to the country on a certain day, and on his 
return found his room in spotless order; while 
all this time the tired mother lay quiedy in her 
bed, knowing little or nothing of her daughter's 
superhuman efforts " to be good." But a month 
of rest worked wonders, and Mrs. Oliver finally 
became so like her usual delicate but energetic 
self that Polly almost forgot her fears, though 
she remitted none of her nursing and fond but 
rigid discipline. 

At length something happened; and one 
glorious Saturday morning in October Polly 
saddled "Blanquita" (the white mare which 
Bell Winship had left in Polly's care during her 
European trip), and galloped over to the No- 
bles' ranch in a breathless state of excitement, 

Blanquita was happy too; for Polly had a 
light hand on the rein and a light seat in the sad- 
dle ; she knew there would be a long rest at the 
journey's end, and that too under a particularly 
shady pepper-tree, so both horse and rider Avere 
in a golden humor as they loped over the dusty 
road, the blue Pacific on the one hand, and the 
brown hills, thirsty for rain, on the other. 

Polly tied Blanquita to the pepper-tree, 
caught her habit in one hand, and ran up the 
walnut-tree avenue to the Nobles' house. There 
was no one in; but that was nothing unusual, 
since a house is chiefly useful for sleeping pur- 
poses in that lovely climate. No one on the 
verandas, no one in the hammocks ; finally she 
came ui>on Margery and her mother at work in 
their orange-tree sitting-room, Mrs. Noble with 
her mending-basket, Margery painting as usual. 

The orange-tree sitting-room was merely a 
l>latform built under the trees, which in the 
season of blossoms shed a heavy fragrance in 
the warm air, and later on hung their branches 
of golden fruit almost into your very lap. 

"Here you are!" cried Polly, plunging 
through the trees as she caught sight of Mar- 



gery's pink dress. " Vou have n't any hats to 
swing, so please give three rousing cheers — the 
house is rented and a lease signed for a year ! " 

"Good news!" exclaimed Mrs. Noble, put- 
ting down her needle. "And who is the tenant ? " 

■'Whom do you suppose? Mrs. Chadwick 
herself! She has been getring on very nicely 
with the housekeeping (part of the credit be- 
longs to me, but no one would ever believe it), 
and the boarders have been gradually taught 
to spare mama and accustomed to her, so they 
are tolerably content. Ah Foy also has agreed 




AH FOY — "the best COOK IN SANTA BARBARA." 

to Stay, and that makes matters still more serene, 
as he is the best cook in Santa Barbara. Mrs. 
Chadwick will pay eighty-five dollars a month. 
Dr. George thinks we ought to get more, but 
mama is so glad to have somebody whom she 
knows, and so relieved to feel that there will be 
no general breaking up of the * sweet, sweet 
home,' that she is glad to accept the eighty-five 
dollars; and I am sure that we can live in 
mode.st penury on that sum. Of course Mrs. 
Chadwick may weary in well-doing ; or she may 
die; or she may even get married — though 
that 's very unlikely, unless one of the boarders 



i892.] 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



Id 



can't pav his board ami wants to make it up to 
her in some way. Heigho! I feel like a prin- 
cess, like a capitalist, like a gikled society lady!" 
sighed Polly, fanning herself with her hat. 

*• Anil now you and your mother will come 
to us for a week or two, as you i)romised, won't 
you ? " askeil Mrs. Noble. " That will give you 
time to make your jireparations comfortably." 

l*olly took a note from her pocket and handed 
it to Mrs. Noble: "Mrs. Oliver presents her 
compliments to Mrs. Noble, and says in this 
letter that we accept with pleasure Mrs. Noble's 
kind invitation to visit her. Said letter was not 
to be delivered in case Mrs. Noble omitted to 
renew the invitation; but as all is right I don't 
mind announcing that we are coming the day 
after to-morrow." 

'' Oh, Polly, Polly ! How am I ever to live 
without you ! " sighed Margery. " First Elsie, 
then Bell, now you I " 

" Live for your Art with a big A, Peggy, — 
but it 's not forever. By and by, when you are 
a successful artist and I am a successful some- 
thing, — in short when we are both 'careering,' 
which is my verb to express earning one's living 
by the exercise of some splendid talent, — we 
will ' career ' together in some great metropolis. 
Our mothers shall dress in Lyons velvet and 
point-lace. Their delicate fingers, no longer 
sullied by the vulgar dish-cloth and duster, shall 
glitter with priceless gems, while you and I, the 
humble authors of their greatness, will heap 
dimes on dimes until we satisfy ambition." 

Mrs. Noble smiled. " I hope your ' career,' 
as you call it, will be one in which imagination 
will be of use, Polly." 

" I don't really imagine all the imaginations 
you imagine I imagine," said Polly, soberly, 
as she gave Mrs. Noble's hand an affectionate 
squeeze. " A good deal of it is ' whistling to 
keep my courage up.' But everything looks 
hopeful just now. Mama is so much better, 
everybody is so kind, and — do you know, I 
don't loathe the boarders half so much since we 
have rented them with the house ? 

" They grow in beauty side by side, 
They fill our home with glee. 

Now that I can look upon them as personal 
property, part of our goods and chattels, they 



have ceased to be disagreeable. Even Mr. 
Oreenwood — you remember him, Margery?" 

" The fat old man who calls you sprightly ? " 

" The very same ; but he 's done worse since. 
To be called sprightly is bad enough, but yes- 
terday he saiil that he should n't be surprised 
// / married well — in — course — of — time ! " 

(Nothing but italics would convey the biting 
sarcasm of Polly's inflections, and no cajjitals in 
a printer's case could picture her flashing eyes 
or the vigor with which she prodded the earth 
with her riding-whip.) 

" Neither should I," said Mrs. Noble, teas- 
ingly, after a moment of silence. 

" Now, dearest Aunty Meg, don't take sides 
with that odious man ! If, in the distant years, 
you ever see me on the point of marrying well, 
just mention Mr. Greenwood's name to me, and 
I '11 draw back even if I am walking up the 
middle aisle ! " 

"Just to spite him; that would be sensible," 
said Margery. 

" You could n't be so calm if you had to sit 
at the same table with him day after day. He 
belongs at the second table by — by — every law 
of his nature. But, as I was saying, now that 
we have rented him to Mrs. Chadwick with the 
rest of the furniture, and will have a percentage 
on him just as we do on the piano (which is far 
more valuable), I have been able to look at him 
pleasantly." 

" You ought to be glad that the boarders like 
you," said Margery, reprovingly. 

" They don't ; only the horrors and the eld- 
erly gentlemen approve of me. But good-by 
for to-day. Aunty Meg. Come to the gate, 
Peggy, dear ! " 

The two friends walked through the orange- 
grove, their arms wound about each other, girl- 
fashion. They were silent, for each was sorry 
to lose the other, and a remembrance of the 
dear old times, the then unbroken circle, the 
peaceful school-days and merry vacations, stole 
into their young hearts, together with visions of 
the unknow^n future. 

As Polly untied Blancjuita and gave a heroic 
cinch to the saddle, she gave a last searching 
look at Margery, and said, finally, " Peggy, dear, 
I am \ery sure you are blue this morning ; tell 
your fiiithful old Pollikins all about it." 



I02 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



[Dec. 



One word was enough for Margery in her ambitious boy I ever knew; and surely, surelv 

present mood, and she burst into tears on Polly's he cannot have changed altogether I Surely he 

shoulder. will come to himself when he knows he may 

" Is it Edgar again ? " whispered Polly. have to leave college unless he does his best. 

•• Yes," she sobbed. " Father has given him I 'm so sorry, dear old Peggy! It seems heart- 




three months more to stay in the university, 
and unless he does better he is to come home 
and live on the cattle-ranch. Mother is heart- 
broken over it; for you know, Polly, that Edgar 
will never endure such a life; and yet, dearly 
as he loves books, he is n't doing well with his 
studies. The president has written father that 
he is very indolent this term and often absent 
from recitations ; and one of the Santa Barbara 
boys, a senior, writes Philip that he is not 
choo.sing good friends nor taking any rank in 
his class. Mother has written him such a letter 
this morning I If he can read it without turning 
his back upon his temptations,whatever they may 
be, I shall never have any pride in him again; 
and oh ! Polly, I have been so proud of him, — 
my brilliant, handsome, charming brother! " 

" Poor Edgar ! I can't believe it is anything 
that will last. He is so bright and lovable ; 
every one thought he would take the highest 
honors. Why, Margery, he is, or was, the most 



less that my brighter times should begin just 
when you are in trouble. Perhaps mama and 
I can do something for Edgar; we will try, 
you may be sure. Good-by, -dearest ; I shall 
see you again very soon." 

Ten days later Polly stood on the deck of the 
" Orizaba " just at dusk, looking back on lovely 
Santa Barbara as it lay in the lap of the foot- 
hills freshened by the first rains. The dull, red- 
tiled roofs of the old Spanish adobes gleamed 
through the green of the pejiper-trees, the tips 
of the tall, straggling blue-gums stood out 
sharply against the sky, and the twin towers 
of the old mission rose in dazzling whiteness 
above a wilderness of verdure. The friendly 
faces on the wharf first merged themselves into 
a blurred mass of moving atoms, then sank into 
nothingness. 

Polly glanced into her state-room. Mrs. 
Oliver was a good sailor and was lying snug 



i892) 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



103 



and warm under Ikt blankets. So I'olly took 
a camp-chair just outside the door, wrapped 
herself in her fur cape, crowiled her tam- 
o'-Shanter tightly on, and sat there alone as the 
sunset glow paled in the western sky and dark- 
ness fell upon the face of the deep. 

The mesa faded from sight; and tlien the 
lighthouse, where she had passed so many 
happy hours in her childhood. The bright disk 
of flame shone clear and steady across the quiet 
ocean, anil seemed to say, />/ your U;:;ht so 
shine .' Let your li^ht so shine / Good luck, 
Polly I Keep your t^vii lamp filled and trimmed, 
like a wise little virgin ! And her heart an- 
swered " Good-by, dear light ! I am leaving 
my litde-girl days on the shore with you, and I 
am out on the open sea of life. I shall know 
that you are shining, though I cannot see you. 
Good-by ! Shine on, dear light ! I am going 
to seek my fortune ! " 

Chapter V. 

TOLD IN LETTERS. 
Extracts from Polly Oliver's correspondence. 

S.KS Francisco, Nov. i, 188-. 

Dear ^L\rgery: 1 have been able to write you only 
scraps of notes heretofore, but now that we are quite 
settled I can tell you about our new home. We were at 
a hotel for a week, as long as I, the family banker, felt 
that we could afford it. At the end of that time, by walk- 
ing the streets from morning till night, looking at every 
house with a sign "To Let" on it, and taking mama 
to see only the desirable ones, we found a humble spot 
to lay our heads. It is a tiny upper " flat," which we 
rent for thirty dollars a month. The landlady calls it 
furnished, but she has an imagination which takes even 
higher flights than mine. Still, with the help of the 
pretty things from home, we are very cozy and com- 
fortable. There is a tiny parlor, which with our Santa 
Barbara draperies, table-covers, afternoon tea-table, 
grasses, and books, looks like a corner of our dear 
home sitting-room. Out of this parlor is a sunny bed- 
room with two single brass bedsteads and space enough 
to spare for mama's rocking-chair in front of a window 
that looks out on the Golden Gate. The dining-room 
just holds, by a squeeze, the extension-table and four 
cliairs, and the dot of a kitchen, with an enchanting gas- 
stove, completes the suite. 

We are dining at a restaurant three squares away at 
present, and I cook the breakfasts and luncheons; but 
on Monday, as mama is so well, I begin school from 
nine to twelve each day under a special arrangement, and 
we are to have a little China boy who will assist in the 
work and go home at night to sleep. His wages will 
be eight dollars a month, and the washing probably four 



dollars more. This, with the rent, takes forty-two dollars 
from our eighty-five, and it remains to be seen whether 
it is too much. I shall walk one way to school, although 
it is sixteen squares and all up and down hill. "... 

Tlic rains thus far have been mostly in the night, ami 
we have lovely days. Mama and I take long rides (jn 
the cable-cars in the afternoon, and stay out at the ClifT 
House on the rocks every pleasant Saturday. Then 
we 've discovered nice little sheltered nooks in the sand- 
dunes beyond the park, and there we stay for hours, 
mama reading while 1 study. We are so quiet and so 
happy ; we were never alone together in our lives be- 
fore. We have a few pleasant friends here, you know, 
and they come to see mama without asking her to return 
the calls, as they see plainly she has no strength for 
society. . . . Poi.ly. 

P. S. — We hav6 a remarkable front door which opens 
with a spring located in the wall at the to]) of the stairs. 
I never tire of opening it, even though each time I am 
obliged to go down-stairs to close it again. 

When Dr. George came last week, he rang the bell, 
and being tired with the long pull up the hill, leaned 
against the door to breathe. Of course I knew nothing 
of this, and as soon as I heard the bell I flew to open 
the door with my usual neatness and despatch, when 
who should tumble in, full length, but poor dear Dr. 
George ! He was so surprised, and the opposite neigh- 
bors were so interested, and I was so sorry, that I was 
almost hysterical. Dr. George insists that the door is a 
trap laid for unsuspecting country people. 

Nov. 9. 

. . . . The first week is over, and the finances 
did n't come out right at all. I have a system of book- 
keeping which is original, simple, practical, and ab- 
solutely reliable. The house-money I keep in a cigar-box 
with three partitions (formerly used for birds' eggs), and 
I divide the month's money in four parts, and pay every- 
thing weekly. 

The money for car-fare, clothing, and sundries I keep 
in an old silver sugar-bowl, and the reserve fund (which 
we are never to touch save on the most dreadful provoca- 
tion) in a Japanese ginger-jar with a cover. These, 
plainly marked, repose in my upper drawer. Mama has 
no business cares whatever, and everything ought to 
work to a charm, as it will after a while. 

But this first week has been discouraging, and I have 
had to borrow enough from compartment two, cigar-box, 
to pay debts incurred by compartment one, cigar-box. 
This is probably because we had to buy a bag of flour 
and ten pounds of sugar. Of course this won't happen 
every week. . . . 

I wrote Ah Foy a note after we arrived, for he really 
seems to have a human affection for us. I inclose his 
answer to my letter. It is such a miracle of Chinese 
construction that it is somewhat difficult to get his idea ; 
still I think I see that he is grateful for past favors ; that 
he misses us; that the boarders are going on "very 
happy and joy " ; that he is glad mama is better and 
pleased with the teacher I selected for him. But here it 
is ; judge for yourself: 



I04 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Dec. 



Santa Barbara, Nov. 5. 
Dear .mv Fresd. 

I was much pleased to received a letter from you how are Your 
getting along and my Dear if your leaves a go Wc but now I been it 
is here I am ver>- sorry for are a your go to in San Francisco if any 
now did you been it is that here very happy and joy I am so glad 
for your are to do teachers for me but I am very much thank you 
Dear my trend. Good Dye 

Ah Fov. 

Nov. 15. 
. . . . The first compartment, cigar-box, could n't 
pay back the money it borrowed from the second com- 
partment, and so this hi turn had to borrow from the 
third compartment. I could have made everything 
straight, I think, if we had n't bought a feather duster 
and a can of kerosene. The first will last forever, and 
the second for six weeks, so it is n't fair to call compart- 
ment number two extravagant. At the end of this month 
I shall remove some of the partitions in the cigar-box 
and keep the house-money in two parts, balancing ac- 
counts every fortnight. . 

Nov. 24. 
. . . . My bookkeeping is in a frightful snarl. 
There is neither borrowing nor lending in the cigar-box 
now, for all the money for the month is gone at the end 
of the third week. The water, it seems, was not included 
in the thirty dollars for the rent, and compartment three 
had to pay two dollars for that purpose when compart- 
ment two was still deeply in its debt. If compartment 
two had met only its rightful obligations, compartment 
three need n't have " failed," as they say down East ; but 
as it is, poor compartment four is entirely empty and 
will have to borrow of the sugar-bowl or the ginger-jar. 
As these banks are not at all in the same line of business, 
they ought not to be drawn into the complications of the 
cigar-box, for they will have their own troubles by and 
by, but I don't know what else to do. . . . 

Dec. 2. 

. . . . It came out better at the end of the month 
than I feared, for we spent very little last week, and 
have part of the ten pounds of sugar, can of kerosene, 
feather duster, scrubbing-brush, blanc-mange mold, ta- 
pioca, sago, and spices with which to begin the next 
month. I suffered so with the debts, losses, business 
embarrassments, and failures of the four compartments 
that when I found I was only four dollars Ijchind on the 
whole month's expenses I knocked all the compartments 
out, and am not going to keep things in weeks. I made 
up the deficit by taking two dollars out of the reserve 
fund, and two dollars out of my ten-dollar gold piece 
that Dr. George gave me on my birthday. 

I have given the ginger-jar a note of hand for two dol- 
lars from the cigar-box, and it has resumed business at 
the old stand. Compartment four, cigar-box (which is 
perfectly innocent, as it was borrowed out of house and 
home by compartment three), also had to give a note to 
the sugar-bowl, and I made the ginger-jar give me a note 
for my two dollars birthday-money. 

Whether all these obligations will be met without law- 
suits, T cannot tell; but I know by the masterly manner 
in which I have fought my way through tlicse intricate 



affairs, with the loss of only four dollars in four weeks, 
that I possess decided business ability, and this gives 
me courage to struggle on. 

Dec. 30, 1S8-. 

. . . We arc having hard times, dear old Margery, 
though I do not regret coming to San Francisco, for 
mama could not bear the slightest noise or confusion, 
nor lift her hand to any sort of work, in her present con- 
dition. At any rate, we came by Dr. George's orders, 
so my conscience is clear. . . . 

Mrs. Chadwick has sent us only sixty-five dollars this 
month, instead of eighty-five. Some of the boarders are 
behind in their payments. The darlings have gone 
away, and " she hopes to do better next month." Mama 
cannot bear to press her, she is so kind and well-mean- 
ing; so do not for the world mention the matter to Dr. 
George. I will write to him when I must, not before. 

Meanwhile I walk to school both ways, saving a dol- 
lar and a quarter a month. Have found a cheaper wash- 
man ; one dollar more saved. Cut down fruit bill ; one 
dollar more. Blacked my white straw sailor with shoe- 
blacking, trimmed it with two neckties and an old 
blackbird badly molted; result perfectly hideous, but 
the sugar-bowl, clothing, and sundry fund out of debt 
and doing well. Had my faded gray dress dyed black, 
and trimmed the jacket with pieces of my moth-eaten 
cock's-feather boa ; perfectly elegant ! — almost too rich 
for my humble circumstances. Mama looks at me sadly 
when I don these ancient garments, and almost wishes 
I had n't such "a wealthy look." I tell her I expect 
the girls to say, when I walk into the school-yard on 
Monday, " Who is this that cometh with dyed garments 
from Bozrah ? " 

Mania has decided that I may enter a training-school 
for kindergartners next year; so I am taking the studies 
that will give me the best preparation, and I hope to 
earn part of my tuition fees when the time comes, by 
teaching as assistant. . . . 

I go over to Berkeley once a week to talk Spanish 
with kind Professor Salazar and his wife. They insist 
that it is a pleasure, and will not allow mama to pay any- 
thing for the lessons. I also go every Tuesday to tell 
stories at the Children's Hospital. It is the dearest 
hour of the week. When I am distracted about bills 
and expenses and mama's health and Mrs. Chadwick's 
mismanagements and little Aung Lee's mistakes (for he 
is beautiful as an angel and stupid as a toad), I put on 
my hat and ride out there to the children, poor little 
things ! They always have a welcome for me, bless 
them ! and I always come back ready to take up my 
trials again. Edgar is waiting to take this to the post- 
box, so I must say good night. He is such a pleasure 
to us and such a comfort to mama. I know for the first 
time in my life the fun of having a brother. 

Ever your affectionate, Poi.i.ikins. 

The foregoing extracts from Polly's busines.s 
letters give you an idea only of her financial 
difficulties. She was tempted to pour these 
into one sympathizing ear, inasmuch as she 



POLI.V Ol.IVERS PROBLEM. 



lO.S 



kept all anm)yaiHcs fioin her mother as far as refrain from smiling when, having matle the 
possible; though household economies, as de- prehminary announcement, — "The great femi- 
vised by her, lost much of their terror. nine financier of the century is in her counting- 
Mrs. ()li\er was never able to see any great room: Let the earth tremble!" — she plantetl 
sorrow in a monthly deficit when Polly seated herself on the bed, took pencil and account- 
herself before her cash-boxes and explained her book in laj), spread cigar-box, sugar-bowl, and 
highly original financial operations. One would ginger-jar licfore her, and ruffled her hair for 
be indeeil in dire distress of mind could one the approaching conte.st. 

( To he loulitiued. ) 




A 1 KENCH HUNTING-DOG. (FRli^ 



INANIMATE THINGS ANIMATED. 



Bv P. Nkwkli,. 




A TEDIOUS INDERTAKING. 

THE SFOoi. OF thread: "I declare I'd rather sit up all night than to undress. 




THE GREEN TOMATO TO THE HOUR-GLASS : " MistCf, 

would you please direct me to — " 




THE HotiR-GLASS ! " Exciise mc, please, — it 's time for me 
lo stand on my head." 



ASTONISHING BEHAVIOR. 
Io6 




THE ALARMED ACCORDION : " Goodncss, gracious ! can this 
be pneumonia ! " 



POOR MR. bellows: " It 's no use. I can't wear a hat ! every 
time I take a step my hat blows ofT! " 




AN EXPLANATION. 

This is not a .Sioux ghosl-dance. It is only the Feather Dusters' Annual IJall. 

i07 



MARK TWAIN'S BIG NAMESAKE. 



Bv Frank M. Chapman. 



One afternoon of the year 1S41. General County for the express purpose of learning 
John Bidwell, then a young lad and a member more about the trees of which he had seen 
of a band of pioneers who had crossed the only enough to arouse his enthusiasm, but the 
Rockies and were descending the western slope war and the conquest of California, and, later, 
of the Sierra Nevadas of California, in what is the excitement which followed the discovery 
now Calaveras County, left his companions and of gold, caused him for the time to abandon 
went on a hunting expedition. the scheme. 

His success in securing game is not recorded, Eleven years i)assed, and the big-tree, al- 
but his hunt will be forever memorable as i)rob- though it had been discovered, was still practi- 
ably the first occasion on which the giant se- cally unknown. Then, in the spring of 1852, 
quoia, or "big-tree," was seen by a white man. writes Mr. Shinn, to whom we owe this account. 
The dusk of early evening caused him to hasten a hunter, while pursuing a wounded grizzly, found 
back to camp without pausing to examine these the sequoia grove in Calaveras. He evidently 

stayed long enough to become impressed by 
the size of the trees, for on returning to his com- 
rades they refused to believe his stories, nor 
would they go with him to the scene of his 
alleged discovery. 

One morning, a short time afterward, he 
came into camp, and, reporting that he had 
shot an enormous grizzly, asked his companions 
to go out and help him bring it in. Leading 
them to the sequoia grove, he pointed to the 
largest tree, and said triumphantly, " There, 
l)oys, is my grizzly I " 

To-day we know that the home of the big- 
tree, Sequoia gigantea of botanists, extends 
from Placer County to southern Tulare County, 
on the western slope of the Sierra Nevadas, from 
4000 to 6000 feet above the sea, and that on 
the coast, from Monterey County north to 
northern California, it has a near but smallei 
relative, the Sequoia seui/>en'ircus, or reilwood 
'I'he big-tree is surpassed in height only b) 
the eucalyptus of Australia, while the redwood 
may claim the honor of being the third largest 
tree in the world. The largest known redwood 
before-unheard-of kings of the fore.st, and the is 366 feet in height and twenty feet in diam- 
urgency of pressing onward to the coast pre- eter. The big-tree attains a greater diameter, 
vented him from returning to them. He after- but does not reach a proportionately greater 
ward planned an expedition to go to Calaveras height. Thus there are big-trees recorded hav- 

108 




AT WORK ON THE Pir. TREK. (SEE PAGE III.) 



MAkK I'WAINS r.lC NAMISAKK. 



109 



ing a diameter of foriy-one feet, Imt we have size tlieir foliage is scanty. 'I"lie leaves, or 
seen none mentioned as being over 400 feet in "needles," are short, and grow from alternate 
height. sides of the stem ; the cones, for so large a tree. 

The height of the largest known eucalyptus are diminutive, and are about one inch and a 
tree is stated to l)e 470 feet, but the diameter is half in diameter. The bark is deeplv furrowed, 
only twenty-seven 
feet. So while taller 
than the largest 
big-tree, if their 
proportions are the 
same, the Califor- 
nia tree has about 
twice the bulk of 
the one which 
grows in Australia. 

It is difficult for 
one who has not 
seen trees that 
tower from 300 to 
400 feet into the 
air to realize their 
grandeur ; and yet 
when we remem- 
ber that the torch 
of the Goddess of 
Liberty is 305 feet 
above the waters 
of New York Bay, 
and that Trinity 
Church and Bun- 
ker Hill Monu- 
ment are respect- 
ively only 283 and 
220 feet in height, 
we may by com- 
parison gain some idea of the impressiveness of 
these stupendous columns erected by the hand 
of nature. 

By counting the layers, or rings of wood, one 
of which a growing tree acquires each year, it 
has been ascertained that the age of the larger 
big-trees is about 1200 years. Thus, while 
Britain was still under Saxon rule, and before 
Charlemagne had ascended the (jerman throne, 
these monarchs of the forest had commenced to 
reign. 

The big-tree is an evergreen related to the 
cedars, and at a distance young trees look not 
unlike cedars. But as they grow larger the re- 
semblance is lost, and in comparison with their 







ROAR WHICH ECHOED THROUGH THE HILLS, 
TRACK PREPARED TO RECEIVE IT." 



IT FELL PROSTRATE UPON THE LONG 
(SEE PAGE III.) 



It is sometimes three feet in thickness, but is 
light and porous. 

The wood of the big-tree is a valuable 
article of commerce, and after being sawed 
into marketable shajjc it is worth about $30 
a thousand feet. It is stated of one tree that 
it contained 537,000 feet of lumber, and at 
the value given it would, therefore, l)e worth 
$16,110. We need not wonder, then, that the 
secjuoia groves are rapidly disappearing before 
the ax of the lumberman. 

The big-tree has been introduced into the 
botanical gardens of England and France, and 
one grow'ing in the former country is nearly 
seventy feet in height. About thirty years ago, 



I lO 



MARK rWAlN S 1!IG NAM KSAKK. 



[Dec. 




two big-trees were planted in Central Park, New- 
York City, but the climate there is evidently not 
suited to them, for they are now 
only thirty-five feet in height and 
fourteen inches in diameter. They 
may be seen to the left as one 
descends the steps from tlie mall 
to the lake. 

But it is our object to tell of 
one big-tree in particular, rather 
than of big-trees in general. In 
the fall of 1 89 1, the American 
Museum of Natural History of 
New York City sent one of its 
staff, Mr. S. D. Dill, to the 
Pacific coast in order to obtain 
there specimens of certain trees 
which were needed to complete 
the " Jesup Collection of North 
American Forestry." Among the 
trees desired was the big-tree, 
and I am asked to tell you about 
the one he procured. 

;\fter reaching San Francisco, 
Mr. Dill was fortunate enough 
to meet a gentleman who owned 



a gro\e of big-trees at Sequoia Mills in Tulare 
County. This gentleman generously offered to 
give the museum any tree in his grove which 
Mr. Dill might select. 

There are two sawmills at Sequoia Mills 
which each day during the summer season cut 
130,000 feet of big-tree wood into boards, 
fence-posts, railway-ties, etc. These are sent 
to the nearest railway station, distant sixty 
miles, by means of a '■ flume." The flume, or 
trough, is wedge-shaped, with sides about eigh- 
teen inches wide, and is supplied with water by 
reservoirs. After being cut into the proper lengths 
the lumber is stored until it is partly dried, and 
then is placed in the flume and started on its 
sixty-mile float down the mountains, making 
the entire journey in about twelve hours. 

In some of the big-tree groves the larger 
trees have received names ; and often a small 
board bearing the name is fastened to the trunk 
of the forest giant. 

The tree selected for the museum, of which 
at least a portion of the trunk was to be saved 
from the all-devouring mill, was known as the 
" Mark Twain." The " Mark Twain " was not 
the largest tree remaining in the grove, but it 




A week's work — ONli TIIIKL) TIIKOl'dll THE GKEAT TRllNK. 



was one of the most perfect. At the base 
it was tliirty feet in diameter, while fur 150 
feet its ct)lumnar trunk was unmarkeil by a limb, 
ami its topmost bra m lies were 300 feet above 
the <2;round. It 



MARK TWAIN's WIC. NAMESAKE. 



I I I 






After three weeks of chopping and sawing the 
giant yielded, and, with a roar which echoed 
through the hills, it fell prostrate upon the long 
track prei)ared to receive it. 



I*', 



was estimateil to 
contain 400,000 
feet of marketable 
lumber. 

The ground 
where the tree was 
intended to lie was 
cleared of all op- 
posing obstacles, 
in order that it 
might not be in- 
jured in its tall. 
Then a staging was 
erected on its trunk 
about twelve feet 
from the ground, 
and,mountingthis, 
two axmen com- 
menced the attack. 
As their labors pro- 
gressed the staging 
was lowered, and, 
after chopping in 
about one third 
the diameter of 
the tree, it was 
removed to the 
opposite side, and 
the operation was 
repeated. The re- 
maining portion of 
the trunk was now 
small enough to 
admit of the use 
of a double-hand- 
ed saw, and after 
chopping out a 
small section from 
the third side to 
serve as a "shoul- 

*:■'„:: tt f:U. .he ... ... m>n.^ .o .he .. . ». no. ,he end of Ae tonber seaso,. 

fourth .ide. Wedge, were driven in ,he open- and before gon.g do,vn ,o the vaHejs for .1 

ing made by the saw, and the tree was thus winter, a number of the employees o the m,ll 

made to fall in the desired direction. were photographed „„ .he trunk and also .on 




"THREE TIERS OF MEN WERE GROUPED, ONE ABOVE THE OTHER, 
ON THE CUT SECTION OF THE TRUNK. 



iSga.] 



MARK TWAINS BIG NAMESAKK. 



113 



the stumj) of the tree. Tliree tiers of men 
were grouped one above the other on the cut 
section of the trunk, while fifty-two formed a 
circle around the outer eilge of the stump. 

But the museum (hd not want an entire big- 
tree, and in order to obtain the section desired 
two ilouble-handeil saws, eaeh thirteen feet in 
length, were joined by brazing, and a section 
four and a half feet long was sawed from the 
trunk just above the place where the ax- 
men had commenced to chop. This section 
is twenty feet in diameter, and weighs about 
thirty tons. To reduce it to portable size it 
was split into several smaller pieces. The lum- 
bermen use dynamite for this purpose, but on 
this occasion iron wedges were employed. It 
was proposed to cart these specimens to the 
railway-station at once and ship them eastward 
to the museum, but a heavy fall of snow pre- 
vented their removal, and it was necessary to 
wait until the following spring. 

The government has procured, from the same 
lumber company which presented this tree to 
the American Museum, part of an even larger 
sequoia for exhibition at the World's Fair at 
Chicago. The section which has been obtained 
measures thirty feet in length, twenty-one and a 
half feet in diameter at the bottom, and seven- 
teen feet in diameter at the top. This will be 
cut into two sections each fourteen feet in 
length, and a third only two feet in length. The 
largest sections, which are taken from the ends, 
will be hollowed out, and all three will be 
cut into pieces small enough to admit of trans- 
portation. On reaching Chicago these pieces, 
each one of which is to be numbered, will be 
erected in their proper positions, and will thus 
form a kind of tree-tower consisting of two cir- 
cular chambers, each fourteen feet in height, 
while the intervening section, having a thick- 
ness of two feet, will constitute the ceiling of 
the lower chamber and the floor of the upper. 

At the present rate of destruction, in less 
than one hundred years from the time of their 
discovery the larger big-trees will be known 
only by their decaying stumps. Nor is the 
lumberman the big-tree's only enemy. Forest 
fires, and the herding of cattle which graze on 
the young trees in the big-tree districts, prove 



e(|ually destructive. Fortunately .several small 
areas have been reserved by the government as 
national parks, and it is the duty not alone of 
every citizen of California, but of every citizen 






A MONSTER. 



of the United States, to see that the laws en- 
acted for the preservation of these parks are 
rigidly enforced. 



Vol. XX. —I 




It was an empty robins' nest 

Left over from last year! 
And yet it held a tender guest, 

That wept a dewdrop tear. 

It turned its eye upon the sky — 
The wind the tear brushed off; 

And when the sun came out on high, 
Its elfin cap 't would doff. 






The guest — 'twas but a chickweed flower, 

The tiniest ever seen — 
Made of the robins' nest a bower, 

And kept their memory green. 

Who knows how there tlie seedling grew, 
With leaves and flowering stem? — 

So long ago the robins flew, 
You cannot ask of them ! 



MOLLY RYAN'S CHRISTALXS EVE. 



By W. y. Henderson. 



It was bitter cold on the night before Christ- 
mas in latitude 40** 30' north, longitude 50° 
west. That lies just south of the southern 
extremity of the Grand Banks of Newfound- 
land, and a wild, melancholy, uneasy part of 
the Atlantic Ocean it is at the best of times. 
But on a Christmas eve, with the wind in the 
northwest, it is a home of desolation. The 
wind was northwesterly on that particular 



Christmas eve, and it was blowing what lands- 
men would call half a gale and a sailor a brisk 
breeze. But the good steamer " Astoria," from 
Liverpool for New York, made no account of 
a wind which served only to increase the draft 
in her fire-room, and to enable the engineer to 
squeeze half a dozen more revolutions per min- 
ute out of the propeller. She was making a fair 
nineteen and a half knots per hour. 



MOl.I.V RYAN S CHRISTMAS EVE. 



When tlu' coUl spray came over the weather- 
bow like a discharge of shot made of ice, and 
slashed the face of the first officer away up 
on the bridge, he only pulleil his cap down 
more tightly over his ears, hauled the muffler 
higher around his neck, squinted at the com- 
pass-card and gritted his teeth, for he realized 
that the mighty machine under his feet was let- 
ting the degrees of longitude drop astern at a 
pace which promised the steamship a splendid 
winter recoril, 

"If the Captain had only laid the course to 
the nor'rard," he muttered, " we 'd 'a' broken 
the record. I don't see wot he 's a-buggalug- 
gin' around here for as if we was in the middle 
o' summer, with ice on the banks. Keep your 
eyes in the bowl, you !" 

The last remark was addressed to the man at 
the wheel. 

" I thought I seed summat w'en we riz to the 
last sea, sir," said the man. 

" See ! Ye could n't see your grandmother's 
ghost on sich a night, lad. It 's blacker 'n the 
inside o' a cuttle-fish." 

It was black, and no mistake. Little Molly 
Ryan, who was among the poor steerage pas- 
sengers with her father and mother, wondered 
if the ship was sailing on the ocean or just on 
darkness. Molly ought not to have been on 
deck, and if any sailor had seen her she would 
have been quickly sent below. But she was 
such a little body, and she huddled up so 
closely under the edge of the poop that no 
one discovered her. It was so gloomy and 
close in the steerage quarters, and so many 
poor women were sick, that Molly had stolen 
away, while her parents were dozing, to catch a 
breath of fresh air. The cold wind seemed to 
pierce through her, but she was fascinated by 
the darkness ; and after a time she climbed up 
and sat on the rail, looking at the ghostly foam 
as it hurled itself against the iron side and 
swept hissing away under the quarter. Molly 
was in great danger, but she did not know it. 
She fancied she saw away down there in the 
black-and-white waters a beautiful Christmas 
tree loaded with silver toys that came and went 
with the foam. Molly had never had a Christ- 
mas tree, but she had heard about them, and 
her fondest hope was that some day she might 



see one. She leaned far out, looking down into 
the waters, and, of course, she could not know 
how close the bark " Mary Kllis" was. 

Hut the Mary Ellis was altogether too close. 
She was flying swiftly along, before the wind, 
thundering down into the yawning hollows that 
flung her bows aloft again with terrible force, 
anil her course was diagonally across the bows 
of the steamer. Now the skipper of the Mary 
Ellis was a rough, mean man, and he was trying 
to save oil, so his side-lights were not burning. 
But those of the steamer were, and the watch 
on the bark's deck ought to have seen them. 
But for some reason they did not. So every 
moment, the two .ships kept drawing closer and 
closer together, and just as a steward happened 
to catch sight of Molly, and called to her to get 
down, there was a sudden outbreak of shouts 
forward. 

The first officer immediately called a swift 
order to the man at the wheel, then sprang to 
the engine-room telegraph, and signaled the 
engineer to stop. 

A few seconds later there was a jar, a noise 
of rending wood, and the Astoria struck the 
Mary Ellis a glancing blow on her port quarter, 
carrying away a part of her bulwarks. At the 
same instant Molly Ryan fell ofit" the Astoria's 
rail into the sea. 

'•Man overboard!" screamed the steward, 
who reached the spot just a moment too late 
to catch her. 

But it takes a long time to stop a steamer 
going nearly tw^enty knots an hour, and by the 
time that the first boat was lowered, the Astoria 
was far beyond the spot where Molly went over. 

Fortunately for Molly, when she came to the 
surface half strangled, her little hands struck 
something hard which floated. With the 
strength of despair she climbed upon it. It 
was the part of the Mary Ellis's bulwarks 
knocked oft" in the coUision. Still more fortu- 
nately for Molly, the captain of the bark, rush- 
ing on deck and hearing the cry, " Man over- 
board," thought that the words came from 
some one on his own vessel, and ordered one of 
his boats lowered away. Groping in the black- 
ness amid the tumbling waters, the crew of this 
boat found Molly, and took her aboard the bark. 

" Wot! " exclaimed the captain; "only a kid ? 



ii6 



MOLLY RVAX S CnRLST>L\S EVE. 



[Dec. 



THE TWO SHIPS KEPT DRAWING CLOSER AND CLOSER TOGETHER." 



Take her forward, some of you, an' see her 
looked after." 

And having made sure tliat the bark was not 
seriously injured, he returned to liis cabin to 
sleep. 

•* Wal, Han'.some," said a long, lean seaman, 
with a pointed beard, who looked for all the 
world like a Connecticut farmer, " wot ye goin' 
to dew with yer wrackage, now ye got her ? " 

" Thaw her out," said " Handsome," as he 
was called, carrying Molly into the galley. 

The sailors fell into a general discussion as to 
how Molly should be treated, for the poor little 
thing was quite unconscious, and her clothes 
were freezing on her. However, after a while 
she was undressed, properly and gently "thawed 



out," and put to bed. The sailor called Hand- 
some mixed a warm drink and poured it be- 
tween her teeth. She gave a little gasp, opened 
her eyes, and gazed around. 

•' Oh," she muttered, " there is n't any Christ- 
mas tree after all." 

And with that she fainted away again. The 
sailors looked at one another in solemn silence, 
till fmally one said, in a deep bass voice : 

" Well, if she hain't a-'untin' fer trees on the 
so'therly end o' the (irand Banks!" 

" Wal, that 's wot she 's a-lookin' fur, an' 
that 's wot she 's a-goin fur to get," said Hand- 
some, sla])ping one huge fist into the other ; and 
then he and the other seamen sat down under 
the forecastle lamp and conversed earnestly in 



i89i.) 



MOI.I.V RYAN S t IIKISIMAS FA^K. 



117 



low tones. After several iiiimiles of talk tlie\ 
all arose, ami Fanner joe saiil : 

" Han'some, yeou air eonsiil'ble peerl u'en 
yeou 're peert. Hut there 's no time to lose. 
We must get to work right away." 

While the rough sailors were at work, little 
Molly passed from a state of unconsciousness 
to one of sleep. The big seamen took turns 
in watching over her. It was not a pretty bed- 
room that Molly hail that night. It was dark 
and dingy, and full of weird noises of groaning 
timbers. A swinging lantern threw changeful 
shadows into all the corners, and showed some 
very rude bunks in which several sailors off 
watch were trying to snatcli a brief rest. Just 
behind those bunks against the stout sides of 
the bark the seas burst in booming shocks, and 
ever and anon there was a noise of falling 
water overhead. Up and away the bows would 
soar and then plunge down again with a sicken- 
ing rush into the turmoil of foam. But of course 
the sailors thought nothing of all these things. 
The forecastle was their home, and they were 
long ago hardened to its sights and sounds. In 
spite of everything, Molly slept (juite soundly, 
wrapped in a rough blanket and with a pea- 
jacket spread over her shoulders, while Hand- 
some and the other sailors were at work with a 
boathook, some small pieces of wood, oakum, 
and green paint. Whatever it was that they 
were making, it was strange enough to look at ; 
but their hearts were in their work, and they 
conversed earnestly in low tones. At last it was 
finished and set up in a bucket close against 
the bulkhead, where the lantern shed its fitful 
light full upon it. 

" Werry good, too," said Handsome, gazing at 
it ; " but it won't do unless it 's got somethin' 
onto it." 

And then those sailor-men went rummaging 
in their chests, and as they had been voyagers in 
all parts of the globe, they brought forth some 
curious toys to put upon the wondrous Christ- 
mas tree which they had made. Handsome 
contributed three large shells from the Indian 
Ocean, a dried mermaid, and a small Hindoo 
god which answered very well for a dolly. 
Another produced a South African dagger, 
Chinese puzzle, and three brass nose-rings from 
a South Pacific island. Farmer Joe brought 



out a stuffed marmoset, an Indian amulet, and 
a tintype likeness of himself. A fourth sailor 
fished out of his chest a beautiful India silk 
handkerchief and a string of coral. Handsome 
gravely hung them on the Christmas tree. W'hen 
all was done, he stejjped back and studied the 
effect. 

" Werry good, too," he said. 

" Yas," said Farmer Joe ; " I guess yeou 
could n't get any sech tree as that to haome." 

At six o'clock on Christmas morning Molly 
awoke. It was still dark, and the lantern's light 
was but dim. The sailors were huddled back 
in the corner furthest from their wonderful 




"HANDSOME's" CHRISTMAS TREE. 

Christmas tree, which was set where the chiUl's 
eyes were most likely to fall on it as soon as she 
sat up in her bunk. So when Molly awoke she 
did sit up and stare straight in front of her with 
■sleepy eyes, trying to collect her thoughts and 



ii8 



MOLT.V RYAN S CHRISTMAS EVE. 



[Dec. 




make out where she was. Gradually she be- 
came conscious of the tree. Her eyes opened 
wider and wider. She almost ceased to breathe 
for a few moments. Then suddenly she 
clapped her hands together and, with a little 
scream of delight, cried joyously : " Why, it 's 
a Christmas tree ! " 

The sailors nudged one another, and Hand- 
some could not restrain a chuckle. Molly heard, 
and looked around at them. A puzzled ex- 



pression came over her face, and she studied 
her surroundings for a minute. 

" Is n't that a Christmas tree ? " she asked. 

" That 's wot it is I " cried English ; " an' we 
nlso is Santa Clauses." 

" Oh ! " exclaimed Molly ; " what funny Santa 
Clauses! I always thought there was only one.' 

" Well, aboard this 'ere bark there is several." 

" .And oh ! " cried Molly, clapping her hands 
and jumping out of the bunk, " what a lot of 



1892.] 



MOLI.V RYAN S CHRISTMAS EVE. 



119 



funny things I 've got for my Christmas ! 1 
never got much before. But I think I M rather 
have my father ami mother, please." And then 
she looked as if she were about to iry. 

" Don't go fer to cry," said Handsome, "an' 
I '11 sing ye a song." 

''Oh, you are a nice Santa Claus!" cried 
Molly, brightening u|). 

" All the rest o' you Santa Clauses jine in the 
chor-i-us," said Handsome, standing up and 
taking a hitch at his trousers. Then he sang : 

Oh, the cook he 's at the binnacle, 

The captain 's iu the galley, 
An' the mate he 's at the foretop, 

\Vi' Sally in our alley ; 
An' the steward 's on the bobstay, 

A-fishin' hard fer sole ; 
The wind is up an' down the mast ; 

So roll, boys, roll. 

" Chor-i-us." 

Roll, boys, roll, boys ! 

Never mind the weather. 
No matter how the wind blows. 

We '11 all get there together. 

Oh, the captain could n't steer a ship, 

Because he was a Lascar ; 
The cook he had to show the way 

From France to Madagascar ; 
The ship she could n't carry sail, 

Because she had no riggin' ; 
The crew they had to live on clams, — 

'T was werry deep fer diggin'. 
Roll, boys, roll, boys ! etc. 

The cook says : '• Let the anchors go ! " 

The crew says: "We ain't got 'em." 
The captain yells : " Then pack yer trunks ! 

We '11 all go to the bottom." 
The steward hove the lead, sirs, 

'T was three feet deep, no more ; 
So every mother's son of us 

Got up and walked ashore. 
Roll, boys, roll, boys ! etc. 

The land was full o' cannibals, 

W'ich made it interestin'. 
We told 'em not to eat us, fer 

We was sich bad digestin'. 



I lie king conies down to see us. 

An' he sports a paper collar ; 
.•\u' he says if we 'II clear out o' thai. 
He '11 give us half a dollar. 
Roll, Ijoys, rt)ll, boys ! etc. 

So we fells an injy rubjjer tree, 

.\n' makes a big canoe, 
Al)out the shape and pattern 

Of a number twenty shoe ; 
The cook he draws a sextant, 

An' the captain draws his |)istol : 
One shoots the sun, an' one the king, 

An' off we goes fer Bristol. 
Roll, boys, roll, boys, etc. 

An' now we 're safe ashore again. 

We 're goin' fer to stay. 
There 's grub to eat, an' grog for all. 

An' wages good to pay. 
I '11 cross my legs upon a stool. 

An' never be a sailor; 
I 'd rather be a butcher, or a 
Baker, or a tailor. 

Roll, boys, roll, boys ! 

Never mind the weather ; 
No matter how the wind blows. 
We '11 all get there together. 

At the end of the song all the seamen stood 
up, joined hands, and danced around, roaring 
out what Handsome called the " chorius," in 
such tremendous voices that the captain, who 
had come on deck, ran to the forecastle hatch 
to see what was going on. He dropped down 
among his men so suddenly that they all paused 
in silence, expecting an outbreak of anger. But 
the captain slowly realized the meaning of the 
scene upon which he had intruded, and said : 

" All right, lads ; amuse her and take good 
care of her. And when we get to New York 
I '11 make it ray business to find her father." 

He was as good as his word, and in due 
time Molly was placed in the arms of her 
parents, who had been mourning her as dead. 
It was a joyous reunion, you may be sure. 
But all the rest of her Hfe Molly remembered 
her strange Christmas eve at sea, and her won- 
derful Christmas tree. 



JUST FOR FUN. 



By Mallx)L.m Douglas. 



-^ 










'V '^1V 



t:i 




•;'/'• /" 



\ 



\if^^ ^K^/ 



On a fence, a few miles from ihe village, 

one day, 
A man on the comet was trying to play. 
" This would trouble," he said, " all the 

neighbors, I fear, 
So I come out to practise where no one 

can hear." 
Bless his dear little heart I It 's not often 

you see 
Such a thoughtful, considerate person as he! 



LITTLE JOHNNY'S COMPOSITION. 














Before a clock two figures stood, with 
cymbals and a drum. 

And one each hour went rub-a-dub, the 
other tumty-tum ; 
" These concerts," they would grumble, " are 
too great a strain, we fear ; 

Why, we 're giving over eighty-seven hun- 
dred in a year!" 



JUST FOR FUN. 



I 2 I 




BACK FROM THE CONCERT. 

Mrs. Thomas de Catt — Were any gifts show- 
ered on you, after you struck the high C ? 

Mr. Thomas de Catt — Nothing of vahie, my 
dear; only a bootjack, two bottles, an old 
shoe-brush, and three tomato-cans. 




THE GINGERBREAD BOY. 

The gingerbread boy on the 
Christmas tree 
Looked down from his place 
with joy ; 
" There 's always room at the 
top," said he, 
" For a well-bred gingerbread 
boy." 







\.-, lU 



THE BOASTFUL PUG. 

The boastful pug put on boxing-gloves. 
And in a loud tone said he : 
" I 'm champion of all the little dogs ; 
Will any one spar with me ? " 
And the Maltese cat, from a safe place, said : 
" To spar with you I '11 agree." 
" Come down on the ground, then," said 
the pug; 
Said the cat : " You come up in the tree ! " 



HAROLD AND THE RAILWAY SIGNALS. 




By KlKK MUNROE. 



When "His 
Royal High- 
ness " led the 
final charge 
that resulted 
in the utter 
defeat of the 
enemy, he had 
no idea that it 
was to be his 
last for that 
season. Of 
course not ; 
for this was 
only the first match-game of foot-ball since the 
opening of school, and at least a dozen more 
were dated to be played before Thanksgiving. 
H. R. H. in this case stands for Harold 
Rawlins Holden ; but because of his initials he 
had been called " H. R. H.," or " His Royal 
Highness," ever since he could remember. When 
he became captain of the High School foot-ball 
team, the name seemed more appropriate than 
ever, for to what higher or more enviable posi- 
tion could a boy attain ? As Hal Holden had 
won it by dint of sheer pluck and hard work, 
and as he was the most popular fellow in his 
class in other ways besides, they felt that the 
title of " His Royal Highness " was well de- 
served. And when, after leading that superb 
rush, and plunging headlong into the fierce 
scrimmage that gave the High School team the 
deciding touch-down, just as time was called, 
Hal made a vain effort to rise, and then fell 
back with a groan, the fellows gathered about 
him in deej) distress. His knee was badly 
wrenched, and all their rubbings and pullings 
only seemed to make it worse. So, finally, the 
brave " center rush " was taken home in a car- 
riage, and carried tenderly up to the room that 
he was not to leave for some weeks. It was 
" hard luck " : all the fellows said so. 



Even they could not realize, though, how 
hard it was to be compelled to lie there day 
after day, and think sadly of all the games that 
were being played without him. 

The fellows were very good about coming in 
to see him; the home folk read to him, and 
amused him all they could, but no one seemed 
to have any time to spare, and, of course, there 
were long hours during which he had to amuse 
himself. He tried to study, but did not succeed 
in accomplishing much, his knee hurt him so ; 
and reading was uninteresting to one who 
longed for action. So, at times, there was no- 
thing for him to do but just to listen and think. 

The Holdens' homestead was near a rail- 
road, and as Harold lay in his room, listening 
to all outdoor sounds and trying to determine 
what they were, he thought the locomotives 
had never whistled so loudly nor so continu- 
ously before. It actually made him nervous, 
in his weakened condition. What was all that 
whistling for ? It almost seemed as though it 
were done on purpose to annoy him. 

He asked every one who came near him, but 
no one could tell him much. His mother said 
she thought they just whistled to keep the track 
clear. Mr. Holden said that all the whistling 
was necessary, and meant something, though he 
did not know just what. 

So " His Royal Highness" puzzled over the 
whistles, and could obtain no satisfactory ex- 
planation of their meaning, until one happy 
day when from down-stairs came joyous shouts 
of " Hal, Uncle Rawl 's come! Uncle Rawl 's 
come ! " 

A few moments later a (juick step was heard 
on the stairs, and then Mr. Rawlins Holden, 
Hal's favorite uncle, and the one he was named 
after, entered the room. He was the manager 
of a great railroad out west. A fresh breeze 
and a flood of sunshine seemed to come with 
him, and his cheery greeting, " Well, my battle- 



llAROl.l) AM) rilK RAII WAV SKJ.NALS. 



scarred veteran, what is tlic meaning of all 
this, eh ? " was recci\ccl with a warm welcome. 

'' Oh, Uncle Rawl, I 'm so glad you 're come I 
I hope you 've come to stay. 1 have so much 
to tell you. And there 's one thing that has 
been bothering me while I 've been shut uj) 
here. Vou are a railroad man — won't you sit 
down, now, and tell me what the whistles 
mean?" cried Hal, eagerly. 

" The whistles ! What whistles ? " 

" Why, the car-whistles. There 's one now. 
Does that mean ' Go ahead,' or ' Back,' or 
what ? " 

" I think it must have been one of the 
' what ? ' whisdes," replied Mr. Holden. " If I 
caught it rightly, it was a succession of short 
blasts, asking some one what he was doing on 
the track ahead of a train, and warning him to 
get out of the way. If it were a cow, or a 
horse, or a calf, or any other animal, the same 
signal would have been used ; and out west we 
sometimes have to sound it to frighten deer 
from the track ; and I have known cases where 
they refused to budge, and the train had to stop." 

" One short blast means ' Stop,' does n't it ? 
What means ' Go ahead ' ? " 

" Two long blasts. But here, seeing that 
you are so interested in the subject, I '11 mark 
all the whistle-signals on a bit of paper in long 
and short dashes, and you can study them at 
your leisure." 

With this the railroad manager took a sheet 
of paper and jotted down on it the several 
whistle-signals in common use by all American 
railroads, accompanying each with a few words 
of explanation. Then he read as follows : 

" One long blast (thus : ) must be sounded 

when approaching stations, junctions, or cross- 
ings of other railroads. 

" Two long and two short blasts (like this : 
) are sounded just before cross- 
ing a wagon-road. 

" One short blast (thus : — ) is the call for 
brakes," continued Mr. Holden, " and two long 

ones (like this : ) orders them to be 

loosed, or thrown off. 

" Two short blasts (thus : ) is an answer- 
ing signal, and means ' All right. I understand'; 

while three short blasts (like this : ), to 

be repeated until acknowledged by the waving 



of a Hag or laiitern, means, ' I want to back the 
train as soon as you are ready.' 

" Four long blasts (so ) 

(alls ill any flagman who may have been sent 
out to the east or north ; while four long blasts 

and one short one (like this: 

— ) calls in a flagman from the west or 



south. 

" Four short blasts (thus : ) is the 

engineman's impatient call to flagmen, switch- 
tenders, or trainmen, demanding, ' Why don't 
you show the signal for me to go ahead ? ' or, 
' What is the matter ? ' 

" When a train is standing, five short blasts 

(such as these : ) is the order 

for a brakeman to run back along the track and 
display a danger-signal for the next following 
train." 

" What is the danger-signal ? " asked Hal, 
who was beginning to consider these railroad 
signals almost as important and w^ell worth 
knowing as those in which he drilled his foot- 
ball team. 

" Red for danger, green for caution, and 
white for safety : flags by day and lanterns at 
night," replied the railroad uncle, adding : " I 
am sure you must have noticed men at road- 
crossings waving white flags to show that the 
track was clear, as your train rushed by ? " 

" Of course I have," answered Hal. 

" Or the watchmen on sharp curves and 
bridges, waving green flags as much as to say : 
' You may go ahead, but you must do so with 
caution ' ? " 

" I don't remember seeing them," responded 
Hal; "but I '11 look out for the green flags the 
very next time I go in the cars." 

" A red flag or a red light is imperative," con- 
tinued Mr. Holden, " and means ' Sound the 
call for brakes and stop at once.' There are 
other danger and cautionary signals I think 
you will be especially interested in," added his 
uncle, " torpedoes and fusees, for instance. A 
torpedo upon the rail is one of the most used 
and most reliable of all the danger-signals." 

" But I should n't think it would be loud 
enough," objected Hal. " Why don't you use 
something louder, — say, cannon-crackers?" 

" Oh, you are thinking of the little paper- 
wrapped torpedoes such as children play with ; 



124 



HAROLD AND THE RAILWAY SIGNALS. 



[Dec. 




ii]hi> nv A II si:k-s|(..nai.. 



but they are not the kind I mean. A railroad 
torpedo is a round tin box, just about the size 
of a silver dollar, filled with percussion-powder. 
Attached to it are two little leaden strips that 
can be bent under the edges of the rail, so as to 
hold the torpedo firmly in position on top of 
it. In this position, when a locomotive-wheel 
strikes it with the force of a sledge-hammer, it 
explodes with a report, fully as loud as a can- 
non-cracker, that can be plainly heard above all 



other sounds of the train. It is a warning suf- 
ficient to arouse the engineman, and to render 
him keenly alert. 

" If a train meets with any accident or ob- 
struction that bids fair to cause a delay of more 
than a few seconds, the engineman sounds five 
short whistle-blasts ( ). On hear- 
ing this signal the rear brakeman must imme- 
diately run back a cjuarter of a mile or so, 
and place a torpedo on one of the rails that his 



1R93 



HAROLD AND THK RAILWAY SIGNALS. 



125 



train has just [lasscd over. I'hen, going hack 
about two hundred yards farther, he places two 
more torpeiloes, a rail's-length apart. He then 
returns to the I'lrsi torpedo, and, with his red 
flag in hanil, stands there until the recall signal 
is souniled from his own train. On hearing this, 
he picks uj) and takes with him the single tor- 
pedo, but leaves the other two where they are. 

" These two torpedoes thus form a caution- 
ary signal ; and, translated bv the next follow- 
ing engineman, mean 'The train ahead of you 
has met with a delay. Move cautiously, and 
keep a sharp lookout.* The single torpedo is an 
imperative warning to apply the air-brakes, 'Shut 
off,' and ' Reverse ! ' — in other words, ' Stop at 
once ; for there is danger immediately ahead.' 

" If a train is delayed at night, the rear brake- 
man sometimes leaves another bit of fireworks 
behind him when called in. It is a ' fusee,' 
which is a paper cone containing enough red 
fire, inextinguishable by wind or rain, to burn 
exactly five minutes, which is the shortest length 
of time allowed between two running trains. 
The engineman of a following train must stoj) 
when he comes to a fusee, and not move ahead 
again until it has burned out ; though he can 
calculate from its condition just about how far 
ahead the next train is." 

" I 'm ever and ever so much obliged, Uncle 
Rawlins," exclaimed " His Royal Highness," 
who had been intensely interested in these ex- 
planations; "but 1 hope you 're not too tired to 
go on ; you have n't told me anything about 
the bell-signals yet." 

" The gong-bell in the locomotive-cab is 
struck by means of a bell-cord that runs the 
whole length of the train." 

" Oh, yes, I know. I have often seen a con- 
ductor pull the bell-cord in a car, and when he 
])ulls once it means ' Oo ahead,' does n't it ? " 

"Yes," answered Mr. Holden; "one tap of 
the bell when the train is standing, is the signal 
to start. 

"Two taps when the train is running, is the 
signal to stop at once. 

"Two taps w'hen the train is standing, means 
' Call in the flagmen. We are ready to go 
ahead.' 



" Tlircc tajis when the train is running, 
means 'Stop at the ne.xt station.' 

"'i'hree tajxs when the train is standing, is 
the signal to move back. 

" Four taj)s when the train is running, means 
* Cio a little slower.' 

"When one tap of the bell is heard while the 
train is running, it is usually a sign that some 
of the cars have broken loose, and warns the 
engineman to ascertain immediately whether 
such is the case." 

" Well, next. Uncle Rawl, what about the 
lantern-signals ? " 

" A lantern swung crosswise means ' Stop ! ' 
One raised and lowered means to go ahead. 
\ lantern swung across the track when the 
train is standing, is the signal to move back; 
and one swung at arm's-length over the head 
when a train is running, means that some of the 
cars have broken loose. A flag, or even the 
hand, moved in any of these directions, must 
be obeyed as promptly as though the signal 
were made with a lantern." 

" And now," said Mr. Holden, after finishing 
these welcome explanations. " While I am 
away I will try to get you one of the train- 
men's book of rules, which, under the headings 
' Whistle-Signals,' ' Bell-cord Signals,' ' Lantern- 
Signals,' ' Torpedoes and Fusees,' will explain 
the whole matter fully." 

Harold warmly thanked his uncle. 

The book was brought home that evening, 
and Harold found in it enough to interest him 
until his recovery. 












Fom tbe Postboy 

to tbe fe.st /Ae.il. ^ 

By Elizabeth Satterfield. 




While eagerly listening for the postman's 
ring, or reading the welcome letters that cre- 
ate a pleasant excitement in the home circle, 
do the St. Nicholas young people ever think 
of the speedy and ingenious ways by which 
their dear absent friends are enabled to talk to 
them ? 

Perhaps a litde chat about the methods and 
difficulties of conveying letters in b3'gone days 
may help you to realize and appreciate the 
advantages of the present. 

We will not go farther back than the latter 
part of the seventeenth century — about two 
hundred years ago. And we will imagine our- 
selves in England. 

There were no steamboats and steam-cars to 
carry travelers to near or distant parts of the 
country at that time. And as people stayed at 
home so generally, there was not nearly so much 
letter- writing as now. We go on frequent jour- 
neys, and want to let our dear ones know where 
we are, what we are doing, and how we are far- 
ing. Besides, there were not many post-offices 
outside of the cities and large towns, and it was 
only to important places in the vicinity of 
London that the mail was sent as often as once 
a day, and towns at some distance had their 
letters and newspapers but once a week. To re- 
mote country places, villages, gentlemen's coun- 
try residences, and farms, especially during the 
winter, when the public and private roads were 
very bad, the mails were very uncertain, being 
often a fortnight and sometimes an entire month 
apart. 

At that time the bags containing the letters 
were all carried by horsemen, the mail-carrier 
jogging along by night and day at the rate 



of about five miles an hour — in good weather, 
and in summer-time; for the highways were 
usually in a very bad condition, so that fast 
riding was not possible. The postman often ran 
the risk of being stopped and plundered by 
mounted highwaymen, at that time a terror to 
travelers by horseback or coach. They seemed 
to be on a sharp lookout for any valuables in 
money, paper, or otherwise that might be sent 
in the post-bags. They rode the fastest and 
finest horses, were bold and daring; and when 
the postman found himself in a lonely road or 
crossing a dark moor late at night, you may 
be sure he urged his weary horse forward and 
joyfully welcomed the first ray of light that 
shone from the lantern swinging to the sign 
of the roadside inn. 

Hounslow Heath, Finchley Common, and 
Gadshill, in the neighborhood of London, were 
celebrated haunts of the highwayman, and the 
secluded roads of Epping Forest, on the route 
to Cambridge, were often the scenes of plun- 
der in broad daylight. These desperate robbers 
at last became so dangerous and the peril of 
their attacks so serious to travelers of all kinds, 
as well as to the postmen, that the government 
passed a law making highway robbery an ofiense 
punishable by the death of the criminal and 
the confiscation of all his property. But rob- 
beries still occurred 

In 1783, mail-coaches protected by armed 
guards took tlie i)lace of postboys. The 
coaches carried passengers also, and, as these 
generally carried arms, the mails were better 
protected ; but still daring and oftentimes suc- 
cessful attacks were made upon them. 

.As I have already told you, writing and rc- 



126 



iKt».M I'liF. rosrnov to tiik kast mail. 



127 



ceiving letters was not the every-day orciirrence Occasionally a few words would be written 

that it is with us. Letters to frienils were usu- on one corner of the folded letter, requesting 

ally written with much pains and formality, and the postman to forward it to its destination 

jcirefully gave all the family news and neigh- with " all speed." 

horhood items that wore supposed to he inter- Hut the various ways in which the letters of 

esting to the recipients. our great-great-,(;'/w//-ancestors were written, di- 




AN ADVENT URE IN EiTING FOREST. 



Stiff, quaint expressions described the quiet, 
old-fashioned romances, the sorrows, tragedies, 
and adventures of the entire country-side since 
the writing of the last letter — perhaps a year 
before. The sheets of paper were large and 
])archment-like, the handwriting usually plain 
and clear. Envelops were unknown. The let- 
ters were carefully folded with the blank side 
of one sheet on the outside, or were wrapped in 
an unwritten sheet. They were most carefully 
and formally addressed and safely sealed with 
wax and taper; sometimes a fine silken cord 
was tied around them before sealing, and this 
was secured by the seal. 



reeled, and sealed would make a story too long 
to be told here. 

The newspapers were an important part of the 
mail. Such a thing as a daily paper was not 
dreamed of, as news was circulated so slowly 
that there would not have been enough to fill 
a small-sheet daily. The weekly paper was a 
moderate-sized two-page affair. The few re- 
ceived in remote country places by the promi- 
nent residents were passed on, after being read, 
to the neighbors, to be carefully read by them 
and returned. 

In this country, at the same period, we dis- 
tributed our letters and newspapers after the 



12! 



FROM THE POSTBOY TO THE FAST MAIL. 



[Dec. 



style of our English relatives ; though, perhaps, 
we were a little more progressive in our methods. 

Benjamin Franklin, who was made deputy 
postmaster-general for the colonies in 1753, was 
active in spreading and facilitating postal com- 
munication. In 1760 he astonished the people 
by his daring project to run stage-wagons for 
carrying the mails from Philadelphia to Boston 
once a week ! These wagons were to start from 
each city on Monday morning and to reach their 
destinations on Saturday evening. 

As years passed the mail service was greatly 



improved in this country and in Great Britain ; 
but the following extract from Mr. Robert 
MacKenzie's "The Nineteenth Century" will 
give you an idea of the way in which the most 
important and thrilling public and national in- 
telligence was sent through England during the 
first third of this century. He says : 

Intelligence traveled by a process so slow that it 
amuses us now to hear of it, although it was but as yes- 
terday since no one dreamed of anything different. 
When the battle of Waterloo was fought, and the de- 
spatches three days after reached London, they were 




i892.] 



FROM rilK POSTHOV To IIIK FAST MAIL 



129 




AN IMPORTANT STOl'FINU-FI.ACK. 



printed in newspapers and the newspapers were loaded 
into mail-coaches. By day and night these coaches 
rolled along at their pace of seven or eight miles an hour. 

At all cross-roads messengers were waiting to get a 
newspaper, or a word of tidings from the guard. In 
every little town, as the hour approached for the arrival 
of the mail, the citizens hovered about the streets, wailing 
restlessly for the expected news. 

In due time the coach rattled into the market-place, 
hung with branches ; the now familiar token that a 
battle had been fought and a victory gained. Eager 
groups gathered. The guard, as he handed out his mail- 
bags, told of the decisive victory which had crowned and 
completed our efforts. 

And then the coachman cracked his whip, the guard's 
horn gave forth once more its notes of triumph, and the 
coach rolled away, bearing the thrilling news into other 
districts. Thus was intelligence conveyed during the 
first thirty or forty years of the century. 

Before the use of postage-stamps various 
sums were paid for the dehvery of letters, 'I'he 
amounts were regulated by the distance, and 
were collected on the delivery of the letter. 

In the early part of this century the postage 
on a single sheet of paper was eight cents, and 
Vol. XX.— 9. 



over forty miles the rate was increased ; so that 
over five hundred miles a single sheet was 
twenty-five cents. But after a time these 
rates were gradually reduced, until in 1845 a 
letter weighing not over half an ounce was 
five cents under three hundred miles, and over 
that distance, ten cents. 

Sir Rowland Hill, who was at the head of the 
Post-office department of England at this time, 
introduced the u.se of postage-stamps in 1840, 
and also lessened the charges for postage. In 
1847 the United States adopted the use of the 
postage-stamp, the lowest-priced one being five 
cents. 

But railways and steamboats had now taken 
the place of the old-fashioned mail-coaches and 
postboys ; and with the more rapid sending of 
the mails, the cheaper rates of postage, and the 
growing population of the country, gradual 
changes and improvements took place in the 
post-office system. And here we are, in 1892, 
receiving our letters from the Pacific coast in 



I^O 



FROM THK POSTBOY TO THE FAST MAIL. 




us to realize. To think of it almost 
sets our heads spinning. 

But delightful as it may be to 
hear from our absent friends so 
often and so speedily, there is said 
to be a drawback to this happy 
privilege. 

The long, pleasant, newsy, charm- 
ing, carefully written letters of the 
past seem with the increase of postal 
facilities to have gone quite out of 
fashion — and in their stead we have 
shorter ones carelessly written and 
badly expressed. 

Now, let me venture to hope the 
St. Nicholas young folk will culti- 
vate the beautiful but neglected art 
of letter-writing — and when reply- 
ing to the letters that have given 
them so much pleasure will try in 
return to tell in a bright, sensible 
way all the bits of family fun and 
cheery new >.. 



THE CITY CARRIER. 

six days — also from 
England in the same 
time; and a few days 
or hours will place us 
in direct communica- 
tion with our friends 
and correspondents in 
almost every part of 
the country. 

Still greater advan- 
tages in the way of 
rapid postal service are 
contemplated by the 
officials at the head of 
our postal affairs. 

By electricity and in 
pneumatic tubes, doubt- 
less, soon our letters, 
magazines, and papers 
will fly to us with a ra- 
pidity that is difficult for 



A LETTER FROM FATHER. 




"PHOEBE." 

FROM A PAINTING BV ROBERT \V. VONNOH. 



A RACK WITH AX AVALAN'CHE. 



By Fanny Hyde Mkrrii.l. 



Oyer a little town in the heart of the Rocky Mountains 
floated a heavy cloud. A young girl stood by the win- 
dow of one of the pretty homes, and watched anxiously 
the sky above. As she looked, her brother stepped 
up behind her. " Xever mind, Kate," he said, 
'• we '11 have a good Christmas, if it does snow." 

Kate frowned. " What is the use of 
any more snow ? It 's four feet deep on 
the ground now, and all the roads 
are blocked. We can't get any 
Christmas mail ; the sugar in town 
is all gone ; only one cow to 
give milk for the children, not 
an egg to be had; we can't 
even bake a cake I " 

And just then white flakes 
came floating through the 
air. Kate's exclamation 
was a doleful " There 
it comes I It 's 

Over near the 
the father. As 



^ 



1^ ■< 



distressed 






^i;- 



<.<* 



A 



too bad ! " 
large stove sat 
he heard Kate's 
voice, he came to the 
window. 
The Doctor was a slender 
man with kind eyes and gray 
hair. There were many lines across 
his forehead, but most of them had 
been drawn by care and thought, few b\ 
age, and none at all by discontent. As he 
stood and stroked Kate's hair, it was easy to see 
that the young girl was the pride of his heart. 
"Your mother, my dear," her father said slowly. 
" was always glad when it snowed at Christmas time. She 
always .said, 'A real Christmas should be a white Christmas.'" 
Tears stood in Kate's eyes, and Harry turned away his head. 
He did not wish Kate to know how desolate home had been to 
him since their mother's death. 
Through the gathering snow two heavy figures came toward the house. 
•^^ Harry opened the door, and saw two strong men, with resolute faces. 

" Does Dr. Ward live here ? " they asked. 
The doctor stepped forward. In sj)ite of the storm, the men lifted their caps as 
they saw his face. 



A RACE WITH AN AVALANCHE. 



^33 



"There 's a man hurt up at the miiK's," said 
the taller of the two men. *• Will vou conic 
up, Doctor?" 

''Certainly," said the iloc tor, promptly. 

I'iie man looked at the two young people. 
" Doctor," he said, " you know the snow is 
sliding badly? It 's a deal of risk." 

The doctor nt)ilded, and j)ut on his thick coat. 

"t)h, papa!" cried Kate, '"not to-day! Not 
you! \\'e can't let you go." In distress she 
turned to the men : " Can't you get some 
vounger man for such a haril trip?" 

The man looked troubled. " I 'm sorry, 
Miss ; we did try. But," his face hardening, 
"no other doctor will go. And the man is 
badly hurt." 

Poor Kate ! Father and brother had hidden 
their own grief over the mother's death, and 
striven to make her life bright. Now she could 
not believe she could be put aside for any other 
call. She clung to her father, sobbing. 

" Kate," he said, as he took her hands, " my 
work is to sa7r lives — " 

"But, Papa! your life — so useful — save 
///a/.'" 

" My dear, who can tell which life is most 
needed? Besides, your fears are foolish, dear. 
There is probably no real danger. I shall 
come back safely, never fear." 

He stopped with his hand on her head. Then, 
satchel in hand, he went to the door. As he 
stepped across the threshold he took Harry's 
hand. " My boy," he said, " you are like your 
mother. I can trust Kate to you " ; and the 
door closed. The three men plowed their way 
up the street into the mountain-trail that led to 
the mines. Kate watched the figures grow 
small in the distance, till the snow hid them 
from sight. The mighty hills that shut in the 
town never looked to Kate so high, so silent, 
so unmoved as during the long hours of that 
day. In vain Harry planned diversions; she 
watched the window with a sorrowful face. 
Still the storm raged; and, as the twilight gath- 
ered, Harry could not keep anxiety from his 
face and voice. Down in the valley the twilight 
fades early, and it was dark when a heavy rap 
brought Harry to the door. There stood 
twelve men, and in their midst, on a sled, an 
uncouth mass of snow-covered blankets. 



"Where 's father?" gasped Harry, staring 
at the sled with its heavy burden. 

" He said we were to tell you the storm was 
so bad he 'd stay up at the mine to-night. 
We 're taking the fellow that was hurt down to 
the hospital." 

" Noble fellows ! " cried Harry, with his face 
aglow, as the men set off again. " Those twelve 
men have brought that hurt fellow down the 
mountain on a sled in this storm and darkness, 
over four feet of .snow. They faced death every 
step of the way, for the snow is sliding all the 
time." 

Kate stared at the fire, but said nothing. 
Suddenly a veil had been Hfted. She saw 
not only her noble father risking his life for 
others, — that was no new vi.sion, — but the 
rough, the faithful miners, twelve of them, 
risking their lives to carry to greater safety one 
poor, hurt, perhaps dying, man. And she — 
all day long she had brooded over her own 
selfish sorrow and anxiety, letting Harry try to 
amuse her, but never thinking of his troubles. 
With a flush of shame she started up. 

" Harry," she said, " we '11 practise a little 
to-night ; can't we ? " 

And Harry brought out his flute and the 
music with a face of such relief and happi- 
ness that Kate's heart gave another throb of 
remorse. 

The morning of the next day dawned clear 
and cool. Gradually the sun rose over the 
mountains, each moment touching into new 
glory the light and shadow, the color and glit- 
tering sheen of the vast snow-covered hills. 
Kate sung over her morning work and thought 
tenderly of the new comfort she would bring into 
her father's life from that day forward. Nine 
o'clock it was before the sunlight touched the 
town in the valley. Harry began to watch 
the mountain-trail for his father. All day long 
the "beauty of the hills" gUttered before the 
longing eyes of Kate and Harry, but no father 
came down the shining mountain-path. At 
three o'clock the sun went down, and the tints 
of sunset glowed upon the snowy heights. 
Kate bravely struggled through the pretense 
of a meal; but self-control is not learned in a 
day, and by evening Harry found her crying 
softly by herself. 



134 



A RACE WITH AX AVALANCHE. 



[Dec. 



" Kate," he said/- don't worry ; to-morrow I '11 Harry started early next morning, and Kate 
go up the mountain and see if father is still there.'' bravely watched him out of sight. 

" We '11 be home for 
Christmas," he shouted 
back, for his spirits rose 
with the prospect of some- 
thing to do. He climbed to 
the mines, and found, to his 
dismay, that his father had 
started down early the pre- 
ceding morning, the super- 
intendent having watched 
him out of sight. 

"Well," said Harry, "I 
must go down and get up a 
party from town to search 
for him." 

" That is the best way," 
said the manager. 

He said nothing of the 
danger Harry himself must 
pass through. Danger was 
around them all. 

Harr)' was strong, active, 
and skilful in the use of the 
" snow-shoes," or " skees," 
which he wore that day. 

The boy's face was sad- 
dened by his fears for his 
father, but a resolute look 
flashed into his eyes as he 
made ready for the perilous 
trip. Just as he shot for- 
ward, came the thunder of 
a blast of dynamite in the 
mine above him. A shout 
went up, "A snow-shde ! " 
and a mass of snow, dislodg- 
ed by the explosion, came 
crushiri;^' past. A corner of 
the shed containing the men 
was carried away. The men 
looked at each other. Their 
escape had been narrow; 
where was the boy who had 
just now shot forward in the 
very path of the avalanche ? 

It needed no shout to tell 
Harry what the result of 
that rejjort would be. He 




IIAKRV S HACK 1 OK I.llli. 



1893.) 



A RACK WITH AN AVAI.ANCH K. 



135 



had started, and almost at that instant the 
snow was on his track. There was no chance 
for turn or thought of pause. His only chance 
for life was to reach the valley before the 
avalanche. 

Over the shortest, steepest descent he Hew, 
the winil cutting his face, all thought merged 
in one fire of effort to fly faster. 




A BAND OF MINERS CAME FLYING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN TOWARD HIM. 



Faster, faster, he skimmed the glittering 
snow till he shot like an arrow from a bow 
into the plain below, and fell headlong cov- 
ered by the frosty spray at the edge of the 
spent avalanche. The breath seemed pressed 



out of his body, and for some minutes he did 
not move. 

Then a shout came through the air, and he 
lifted himself as a band of miners came flying 
down the mountain toward him. They came 
on snow-shoes frcjm the mines above, and were 
overjoyed to find the boy alive. "He beat the 
snow-slide ! " they ejaculated, and Harry, a hero 

from that hour, was 
~lBm fill escorted home in 

§^^ "1 triumph. At the 

Jr; iJI door stood Kate, 

and back of her the 
good father, safe and 
sound. On his way 
down from the mine, 
the doctor had been 
hailed by a man who 
lived in a little cabin 
sheltered in the 
mountain-side. The 
man's child had 
broken an arm, and 
by the time every- 
thing was done for 
his relief, the short 
day was so far gone 
that the doctor was 
obHged to stay all 
night. 

That " Christmas 
eve," as Kate and 
Harry and their fa- 
ther stood watching 
the stars glow and 
sparkle in the keen 
mountain air, Kate 
put her hand on her 
father's arm as she 
said, " There won't 
be much for Christ- 
mas, to-morrow ; but 
anything that could 
come to me would 
seem very small, 
after having you and Harry given back to me." 
" My dear," said her father, '"since the Christ- 
mas angels first sang ' Peace on earth, good will 
toward men,' the best gift that can come to any 
of i:s is an unselfish heart." 



THE WliriT. CAVE. 



liv William (). St(U)DAKd. 




•JB-r^ 




"with LONO KKIOHTliNl-.IJ LtAIS, IHli KANGAROOS HASHED h KANTICALI.V KIUAKIJ I HE NEAKl.M 



(sKE i Ac.E Iji.l 



{Begun in the No7<cmter riuinicr.] 

Chapter III. 

BOOMKRANGS. 



at the bottom of the pass. No wagon could 

have traveled that road, but a horse could do 

so, or a man; and in and out among the boulders, 

carefully picking his way, a man was leading 

a heavily laden horse. The animal was large, 

Several long days and strong, and bony, and so was the man. 

after Sir Frederick The horse was black, and looked as if his coat 

Parry's excursion- had never known a currycomb or a brush. At 

party .set out so intervals, the man cast quick, anxious glances 

merrily from The behind him, up the pass. 

Cirami)ians, the hot " They 're after me again," he exclaimed. " I 
December sunlight knew they 'd follow me, as soon as I met that 
shone down over fellow Jim. They have n't caught up yet, 
the wilderness, and though; and I '11 beat them, this time, as I have 
sent its searching rays into many wild-look- beaten them before. But it won't do to push 
ing jjlaces. too fast with such a cargo as this." 

One of them was a mountain jjass, between He was silent, for a moment, while he heljK'd 
gigantic and almost ])erpendicular walls of the horse through a l)a<l place, throwing some 
rock, which were grandly high, and shattered, fragments of rock out of the way with an ease 
and irregular. Only here and there could the that suggested a reason why no one man would 
sunshine reach the boulder-strewn, natural road be likely to stop him. Then he added : 

136 




THF. WHITE CAVE. 



" I won't have to visit that giikh again. I 'vc 
eniiiticil my old hiiUng-plai e this time, and I 'ni 
bound to land this cargo in the cave. \\'hat 
I '11 do then 1 don't know ; Iml I won't let that 
crew of robbers get it. And they sha'n't get 
me, either." 

In another forest place, there was a long but 
not very wide level of rich green grass, sur- 
rounded by remarkable trees, some of which 
were enormously tall ; and it seemed as if several 
of them had found themselves too crowded, 
and had moved out and selected new standing- 
places in the open prairie. These prairie trees 
were at considerable distances from each other, 
and one of them had ciueer company. 

It was a company of four, and the\- were 
four-footed animals, but they did not seem to 
know what to do with their feet. When they 
sat down, they still appeared to be standing 
up, and the largest of them, when sitting, held 
his head as high as that of a man. 

They were evidently in their own pasture- 
ground, for they were feeding; but they kept up 
the most timid and ceaseless watch in all direc- 
tions. A hunter would have said that they 
would prove as (hfiicult to "stalk" as a herd 
of red deer. 

Along the easterly edge of the open pasture 
ran a line of dense bushes ; and completely hid- 
den behind one of these bushes two boys were 
lying upon the ground. 

" Ned, look ! I 'm glail we did creep up. 
There are four kangaroos ! " 

" Just what we 're after, Hugh," whispered 
Neci ; " but they 're away out of range." 

'• I don't see how we can get any nearer," 
said Hugh. "They 're the timidest game! 
We '11 lose them, I 'm afraid." 

" If we don't get one of them we '11 starve ! " 
exclaimed Ned. " I wish I had a rifle instead 
of this double-barreled gun." 

"And buck-shot w'on't reach them," said 
Hugh. " Maybe they '11 feed out this way. 
Wait." 

"It 's hard to wait," said Ned. " Not a 
mouthful to eat since yesterday noon ! I 'm 
fearfully thirsty, too." 

" I 'm afraid they have n't any fresh meat in 
the camp, either," replied Hugh. " I wish we 



knew where it is. Mother '11 be dreadfully wor- 
ried about us." 

" Keep still," said Ned. " They 're moving I " 

Ned and Hugh now stared more and more 
eagerly out at the group of kangaroos. At a 
little distance behind the lads, a pair of saddled 
horses were tethered to a sapling, and behind 
each saddle was strapped a roUed-up blanket. 
Each of the boys carried a double-barreled, 
breech-loading " duck-gun." It was evident 
that they had wandered from the camp to 
hunt, and had lost their way. 

" We must n't starve I " said Ned. 

" If we were on the other side of that cab- 
bage-tree," replied Hugh, " we 'd be within easy 
range of them." 

That was precisely the reason wh\' the cab- 
bage-palm had yet other company, that sunny 
summer morning in December. Queer com- 
pany were these, also — as queer as were the 
kangaroos themselves. Half a dozen dark, al- 
most naked human forms seemed to be making 
use of the great tree to hide the crouching, 
creeping, snake-like gliding of their swift ap- 
proach for a nearer look at the watchful game. 
They were gaunt and lean, but very muscular 
men. They were very black, with woolly hair, 
but they did not have African faces. Their 
bodies and limbs were marked with singular 
ridges of welts and scars, but they were not 
tattooed, and they did not carry any weapons 
of white men's manufacture. On the other 
hand, each of them seemed burdened with a 
curious collection of spears and sticks, although 
none had a bow. 

" Hugh," said Ned, " there are bushes over 
there, beyond that tree. We could creep close 
up, if we could get around to that side of it." 

" We could get a brace of them ! " replied 
Hugh, excitedly. " Let 's try." 

A branch of a bush was just then waving 
slowly, out at the side of the trunk of the palm. 
It was as if the wind moved it, and it did not 
attract any attention from the kangaroos. 

But there came, at that moment, a flash of 
(juick and anxious intelligence into the dark, 
keen eyes of the Yankee boy. 

" Lie low, Hugh ! " he exclaimed. " Look ! 
There is n't any wind. Something else must be 
moving that bush. Wait a bit." 



1^.8 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Dec. 



'• There it is again," saitl Hugh ; " away out." 

But neither of them could see through the 
dense foliage of the handful of twigs which 
waved up and down against the cabbage-palm. 
Eyes on the opposite side could see better than 
theirs, however, and a large, rolling, eager pair 
of very black eyes were using that green branch 
as a mask. 

The black man watched the kangaroos in- 
tently for a moment, and he seemed to be 
taking a kind of measurement of their distance 
from the foot of the palm. Then he drew back, 
and a second black man took his turn at look- 
ing, with the bush-branches for a screen, and 
he also drew back. He put down the twigs, 
and the two seemed to be studying. Two men 
who could neither count nor measure, as civil- 
ized men count and measure, were in reality 
counting and measuring as accurately as if they 
had been a pair of sur\'eyors with perfect in- 
struments. They had dropped their spears and 
sticks before peeping out at the kangaroos, and 
now each of them stooped and picked up a 
queer crooked club. All the other black men 
lay flat in the grass, while these two went on 
with their puzzling operations. Neither of them 
could see any part of a kangaroo through the 
trunk of the tree. Each stood and balanced 
himself, leaning forward, with his bit of curved 
wood held in his right hand by one end. 
Those crooked sticks were not much over two 
feet long, perhaps not more than two or three 
inches wide at the center, the widest part, and 
were made to taper at each end. They were 
curved on one face and flat on the other and 
sharp at the edges. You would have said great 
pains had been taken to shape those sticks so 
that it would be impossible for anybody to 
throw them straight or make them hit any 
object they were thrown at. 

Each black man held his dark, heavy-look- 
ing, wooden weapon with the flat side down, 
until he had finished his balancing and calcu- 
lating, and then he suddenly drew back and 
hurled it from him, with a peculiar, jerking twist 
of his wrist. .Mmost at the same moment, each 
of them stooped and picked another and threw 
it. and then a third. .As the third cast was 
made, each uttered a loud, screeching yell, the 
two harsh cries bursting forth at almost the 



same second, followed by yells from all the rest 
of the party as they sprang from the grass, 
seized their spears and sticks and bounded 
forward. 

Ned and Hugh had noted every movement 
of the green mask by the palm, and the kan- 
garoos also must have begun to suspect danger, 
for all of them had ceased feeding, sat upright, 
and pricked their ears and turned their pretty 
heads inquiringly. The largest of them was in 
the very act of rising for a forward bound when 
something struck him upon the neck, just above 
the shoulder. 

There had been a faint whizzing and whir- 
ring in the air. It began behind the cabbage- 
palm and went out sidewise and upward, 
through the air, while something dimly visible 
flashed away in a wide, sweeping curve. Up, 
up, up, went the whiz and whirl, and then 
down, down, after a strange, mysterious fashion, 
closely accompanied by another, just like it. 
Then there was a thud, thud, — and the great 
kangaroo did not make his leap. He rolled 
over and over in the grass, for one of those 
wonderful missiles had actually broken his neck. 
And another kangaroo had fallen also. 

" Hugh I Hugh ! " exclaimed Ned, in a tone 
of intense excitement. " Boomerangs ! " 

•' Boomerangs ! " responded Hugh. " Oh, 
Ned ! They must have been thrown by black- 
fellows ! Everybody thinks there are none of 
them around here ! " 

" We must n't let 'em know we are here," 
said Ned. 

" What if they find the camp ! " gasped Hugh. 

" Look," replied Ned. " Here come the 
other two kangaroos ! " 

" Don't shoot I " said Hugh, for Ned was 
raising his gun. " The bushmen will know 
we 're here." 

But for all that he also cocked both hammers 
of his gun. 

There was no time for cool counsel, but the 
boys might not have fired if it had not been for 
the reckless conduct of those escaping kan- 
garoos. 

With k)ng, flying, frightened leaps, the un- 
hurt pair dashed frantically toward the nearest 
cover — the very bushes where Ned and Hugh 
were hiding. 



i89».] 



rilK WIIITK CAVE. 



139 



" Thcv arc coming right for us!" said Hugli. 
'*'i"hc blackfcUows will fintl us, anyhow," 

I'hc kangaroos were thinking only of getting 
away from the yelling black clangers that sprang 
out from behind the cabbage-palm. Near as 
they now came to the boj-s, they were not easy 
marks for any one but a very good shot. Crash, 
crash, crash, they came dashing into the dense 
barrier of the bushes and underbrush. 

Bang, bang, went the ringing reports of two 
guns, for Hugh followed Ned's excited examijle. 

" We 've bagged 'em both ! " said Ned. 



but Ned interrujjted him suddenly, in a tone 
of intense anxiety : 

•• No, they won't I See the tops of that grass 
(juiver, out yonder? One of them 's playing 
snake. Yoii and I must get out of this, and be 
ijuick about it ! " 

*' That 's so," exclaimed Hugh ; " but as Hob 
McCracken 's been saying ever since we left 
the Grampians, you 're a born scout. I M 
never have noticed that grass." 

" Don't you see ? " said Ned. " He 's snak- 
ing toward these bushes. As soon as he gets 




^d^-^ 



HI-: srUDENLV DREW BACK AND HURLED THE BOOMERANG. 



" Yes," said Hugh, " we have them. But now 
those black cannibals know we are here." 

" They don't know how many there are of 
us," said Ned. " Look at them." 

The foremost black men had been almost 
upon their game when the gun reports reached 
their ears; and it looked as if all but one of 
them had been instantly killed, so suddenly did 
they drop into the grass where they stood, and 
he still. 

" Let 's get away," said Ned, " while our 
chance is good. Why ! they have vanished like 
magic ! " 

The undulating level of rich grass did not 
seem to have one living creature upon its 
surface 

"They will lie there a while," began Hugh, 



under cover he '11 come after us. Come along ! 
We must move quickly ! " 

The boys were in a perfect tremble of excite- 
ment. Each slipped a fresh cartridge into his 
gun, and the horses were unhitched and led 
up to where the two kangaroos lay. They 
were smaller than the pair that had fallen 
under the boomerangs, for the black hunters 
had taken their choice. Still, it was a heavy 
lift for the boys to raise their unexpected prizes 
and to fasten them on the horses. 

Hugh's rosy face, as he did so, wore only a 
look of boyish exuberance, without a shadow 
of fear; but he exclaimed : " Now, Ned, they '11 
follow us. Anyhow, we 've seen how the black- 
fellows throw their boomerangs ! " 

Ned's movements seemed to be a trifle 



I40 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Dec. 



quicker than Hugh's, and he also appeared 
warier and cooler. 

" We can get away." he said, " while that fel- 
low in the grass is working around to find out 
about us. What would n't I give to know 
where the camp is I " 

" It can't be so very far," said Hugh ; and 
then the smile left his face as he added, " Our 
people don't dream of there being any black- 
fellows in this neighborhood. It *s awful that 
we can't go in and warn them." 

" They have the dogs," said Ned, as he 
urged his horse forward. " They can't be sur- 
prised. J!e are in a fix, though." 

" We have something to eat, now, anyway," 
said Hugh. '• We won't starve if we are lost in 
the bush." 

" With blackfellows ready to spear us," said 
Xed, "as soon as we stop anywhere long enough 
to cook and eat ! " 

" We can fight any small squad of them," 
said Hugh, combatively. 

" I 'd rather fight blackfellows than so many 
American Indians," replied Ned. " I guess 
they can't do much with boomerangs in the 
woods." 

" They can use them pretty well," said Hugh, 
" and they can skulk around and throw spears 
and clubs." 

" We must push right along," said Ned. 
" Keep in the open places. We '11 beat them." 

The quivering motion in the tops of the 
prairie-grass had indeed been made by the 
snake-like passage of a savage body. It was 
altogether remarkable, too, how rapidly that 
short, bony, emaciated blackfellow could crawl ; 
but he could not keep i)ace with a man walking, 
much less a nimble-footed Australian horse. He 
reached the line of bushes, at some distance 
from the s])ot where the boys had been lurking, 
and then he sprang to his feet. He could go 
faster after that, but he advanced with noiseless 
caution, for he had no idea how many enemies 
might be near him, besides the two who had 
been firing. It was only a few minutes, however, 
as he drew nearer to the exact spot, before his 
black eyes began to glisten with a strange, fierce 
light ; his lips drew back, disclosing the rows of 
large, white teeth; and his whole ])0(ly (juiv- 
ered, as those of the two ])oomerang-throwers 



had quivered just as they were making their 
casts. He felt much as a wild beast feels when 
about to spring. He made no sound until, 
as he j)eered fiercely out from behind a bush, it 
flashed upon his keen, instinctive intelligence 
that the men who had fired the guns were gone. 
He darted out of his bushy cover. Swift and 
searching were the glances of his glittering eyes, 
and they did not miss a token that Ned or 
Hugh had left. He noted the footmarks; the 
bloody ground where the kangaroos had fallen ; 
the trail made by the two horses as they went 
away ; and then he raised his head. 

A sound went out through the air and floated 
toward the cabbage-palm. It sounded as if it 
might have been the cry of a distant bird. It 
might almost have been the sigh of a wind 
among the trees; but it must have had some 
peculiar meaning, for the blackfellows who 
had been lying hidden in the grass, out in the 
prairie, were instantly upon their feet, racing 
swiftly to join their comrade in the bushes. 

At that very moment but several miles away, 
a very difiierent kind of sound seemed to be 
hunting, hunting, hunting around among the 
trees. It came from different human voices, 
and in all of them it was both incpiiring and 
plaintive. 

" Coo-ee-e ? Coo-ee-e ? Coo-ee-e ? " 

The several voices were not answering one 
another, apparently, but each was asking the 
whereabouts of some one who did not as yet 
hear or answer. They grew more and more 
anxiously questioning, as the deeper or shriller- 
toned ''coo-ee-es" vainly rose and fell among 
the silent shadows of the endless forest. 

"Coo-ee-e — Oh, Aunt Maude! I can't call 
any more ! But hear the men. 1 wisli the boys 
could hear them ! " 

" Helen ! Your pony I " 

He was a spirited, handsome little fellow, and 
while Helen's earnest blue eyes .searched among 
the trees the pony's forefeet left the ground and 
he made a sudden leaj) over a fallen tree. 

" Helen I Be careful I " 

There was apparently no need for her aunt 
to caution her, for she followed every move- 
ment of the pony as if she had been ])art of 
him. So (lid Lady Parry keep her own ])lace, 



iVl 



Tin; wnni-: ( .wi: 



141 



in tlie saddle of the larger ami more pouerlul tain was taking an interest in tlie matter and 

animal which carried her over the same barrier, was shouting: "Coo-ee-e? Coo-ee-e ? " 
On horseback, or anywhere else, she was alwa)s A moment later, a man on horseback rode 

a very stately, self-i)ossessed, and dignified lady, out untler the trees at the water's edge. It 

" Keep right on, Helen," she said. " 1 must was Sir Frederick Parry, and he called to one 

know w hat they are going to do next. We of his men, near by : 
/////.</ find those bovs!" "I can't coo-ee-e any more, but I wish those 




"Helen's tmnn 



. IK A FALLEN TREE. 



'' Oh. it is dreadful I " replied Helen. 

They both looked pale, pained — almost 
frightened, as they rode on, and they were 
all the while peering intently through the spaces 
of the forest, and listening. 

" No, no," remarked Lady Maude, again and 
again; " there is no answer." 

Only a short ride beyond them there was a 
vast, frowning wall of granite rock, rising almost 
perpendicularly, hundreds of feet above the 
tallest trees. At the foot of this wall, there 
rolled and tumbled and gurgled a torrent of 
clear water. Across the stream and against the 
rock went call after call ; and they were thrown 
back among the tree-tops as if the very moun- 



boys would turn up. Do you think we 're get- 
ting nearer to them, Bob ? " 

" Yes, sir," replied a very respectful voice, a 
little beliind him. "Yes, sir. They '11 turn 
up before long, sir. Had n't we better go into 
camp, sir ? We 've had a pretty long march, 
since morning, sir." 

" Right away, Bob. We '11 camp here." 
" Coo-ee-e ! " called Bob, as he dropped 
lightly from his horse. He raised his voice 
once more, in a different kind of cry, well 
known to the herdsmen, but he did not have 
to repeat it. Replies came at once from sev- 
eral other directions, as well as from the 
echoing mountain. 



(To be contiiiueJ.) 



IX A RIXC. Ol- Mkl- 



Bv F. H. Kkllogg. 





"all that was visible was two horses' heads, and two men ai'I'akently seated on the watek. 



F(jR years I had hoped to visit the Indian 
Territory before the rush of homesteaders had 
settled the country to such an extent as to put 
an end to the native wildness of the region 
and people. My opportunity came at last, and 
during a certain September vacation the trip 
was made. The experience of the first day 
was enough to convince me that the place was 
still wild enough to satisfy any one in search of 
the uncivilized. 

With an Indian trader, his wife, and little 
boy, I left Arkansas City one morning at about 
ten o'clock. After an hour's ride we alighted 
from the train at Ponca, a station on the Ponca 
reservation. There we expected to find a light 
wagon in which to finish our journey ; for our 



destination, Kama-hatsa (Gray Horse), was 
about thirty miles from this, the nearest rail- 
road-station. After a wait of an hour longer, 
our friend arrived with the conveyance, and just 
at noon we started on our ride across the coun- 
try. Soon we reached the Arkansas River. 
Although recently swollen, it was apparently 
fordable, and we started to cross. Had not 
our driver been well acquainted with the river 
our trip would have abruptly terminated 
there. We drove up, then down, then across. 
At times the water ran into the body of the 
wagon; again we were in a (juicksand, and the 
horses plunged and staggered. The wheels 
would grind and grate over the sand, the wagon 
would roll and toss until we were almost 



IN A kINC OK KIKi:. 



M3 



thrown out, and then, witli a sinUkn hirch, all 
would come right side uj) again, anil \vc would 
move on. 

\\ c had just reached the opposite hank 
when, looking back, we saw two men in a 
wagon rather smaller than the one in which 
we were riding and drawn by a team of little 
Indian ponies. They had just struck the deep 
channel, and the horses, all covered but their 
heads, were struggling along, sometimes swim- 
ming, sometimes just getting a foothold. Their 
wagon also was covered, so that all that was 
visible was two horses' heads, and then, just 
behind them, the two men apparently seated 
upon the water. We soon forgot our former 
fright in watching them; for, though we sympa- 
thized with them, it was really a ludicrous sight. 

Driving across the bottom-land, we passed 



through seas of grass which was higher than 
our heads, even as we sat in the wag(;n. 'I'he 
sudtlen gusts of wind set the grass to bowing 
and bending; the tall sunflowers welcomed us 
with polite " salaams," but the long whip-like 
lashes of the wire-grass gave stinging cuts 
across our faces. 

A dim haziness spreading over the sky now 
attracted our attention, and I felt a sudden 
sinking of the heart as I remembered that this 
was the season when the great prairie-fires 
are common. In such a place as that a fire 
meant certain death. The haze assumed a 
reddish tinge, the air seemed oppressive and 
stifling, and we knew that danger was near. 
\Ve hoped we might avoid the direct path of 
the flames, but the hope was a faint one, for 
the whole country seemed to be ablaze. As 




SC^^"^^^'/ 



"WE DASHED THROUGH THE LINE OF FLAME." (See page I44.) 



144 



1\ A RING OF FIRE. 



[Dec. 



far as the eye could see, dense columns of 
smoke showed the presence of the fire, in all 
directions. 

We whipped up the horses and drove toward 
the upland, thinking thus to escape the greatest 
danger. We reached the high ground before 
meeting any flame, and we were greatly re- 
joiced to see that much of the grass was still 
fairly green here, though thickly bestrewn with 
patches of longer grass that was dry. 

The fierce flames now approached, rushing 
along with furious speed, crackling and snap- 
ping — the sound alone being sufficient to strike 
terror to the stoutest heart. Galloping along 
the line of fire, we found that where it crossed a 
little ravine the flames were not so high, for 
the grass was quite green there. We dashed 
through the line of flame, sufiering brief tor- 
tures of suftbcation, and a severe stinging and 
smarting of our eyes, caused by the intense heat 
and pungent smoke. 

Once through, we congratulated ourselves on 
the hope that we should yet escape ; for, going 
in this direction, right in the teeth of the wind, 
we could travel more rapidly than the pursuing 
flames. 

\\'hile passing through the fire, I recalled the 
proverb " It 's an ill wind that blows nobody 
good," for just in advance of the hne of flame 
clouds of swallows darted here and there, catch- 
ing the hosts of insects started up by the heat 
of the burning grass. 

We now heard galloping hoofs, and we soon 
saw two Indians (Osages) approaching through 
the smoke. "Where are you going?" they 
asked, in their own language. "To Gray 
Horse," our driver replied, in the same tongue. 
They told him that the prairie was a mass of 
flame in that direction, and that we must go 
back. We responded that all was flame in 
(hat direction. Notwithstanding the indiffer- 
ence to danger usually ascribed to redskins, 
these Indians showed unmistakable signs of 
terror. Some further quick conversation in- 
formed us that they, like ourselves, had seized 
an opportunity to penetrate the line of flame, 
thinking thus to escape. 

We all were now inclosed in a gradually 
narrowing ring of fire. To clear the space 
around us by burning off the grass — to start a 



"back-fire," as it is called — was our only 
chance for safety; and this we attempted. A 
large space was cleared before the oncoming 
fire reached us. We hoped to escape with 
but singed eyebrows, and a few moments of 
suffocation ; and this we would have considered 
a fortunate deliverance. But we found our 
last chance failing us. The back-fire we had 
started against the wind had burned only the 
dry grass, and in doing this had served as a 
furnace to dry the greener grass. Thus the 
prairie-fire, reaching our burned district, found 
the greener grasses killed and dried, and hence 
had almost as much fuel as outside. 

The fire was now close around us. The 
varying currents of air heated by the flame 
whirled and rose, and gusts of cold air, rush- 
ing in to replace the hot air, caused a whirl- 
wind, and a great well of smoke and flame 
was thus formed. Within this well we stood, 
as yet unharmed and with a constant supply 
of cool air, but expecting death. 

It was a dreadful moment: the mother and 
child were crying, the Indians, with uplifted 
arms, were calling upon the (ireat Spirit, in a 
weird chant. 

Suddenly we felt an unusually strong rush 
of cold air from one side, and looking up, I 
saw a strange and welcome sight. A long 
tongue of flame had run toward and into our 
circular prison from the main fire, and had 
burned a lane from the outlying burnt area in 
to us. Through this lane, formed by walls of 
fire, came rushing in a current of cold, clear 
air. This kept the smoke blown away, and 
we saw plainly the path of escape thus prov- 
identially afforded us, when all hope seemed 
gone. 

Our horses had been paralyzed with fear, 
and had hardly moved a muscle after the near 
approach of the flames. Now they could not 
be induced to move. But quicker than thought 
each Indian cast off his blanket, and enveloped 
his horse's head. Then they grasped the 
bridles, jumped upon the horses' backs, and 
dashed out through the avenue of escape that 
had opened before us. We followed, with a 
rush, and soon found ourselves in safety. 

The Indians rode rapidly away, staying for 
neither thanks nor presents. It was with 



1893.) 



IN A klNi; OK FIRK. 



145 




"the INDIANS, W Il'H L'l'MFTED ARMS, WERE CALLING I'PON THE GREAT SPIKIT, IN A WEIRD CHANT." 

thankful hearts that we drove into Gray runner of what was to come, I woukl have 
Horse, about ten o'clock that night; and I been wiser to leave "wild scenes" to those 
thought that if my first experience \vas a fore- better fitted to cope with them. 



Vol. XX. — 10. 



THE PERSIAN COLUMBUS. 



(.-/« Orictital Fattdisy.) 



By Jack Bennett. 



One sultry summer evening in the eight hun- 
dred and seventieth year of the Mohammedan 
era, the renowned CaHph Haroun Al Huck- 
EI-Berri, of Bagdad, sat frowning amid his 
magnificence. 

The royal divan was fashioned of ruddy gold, 
thick-studded with virgin pearls. Overhead 
was an exquisite carved dome of ivory and 
ebony, radiant with the rosy glow of swaying 
brazen lamps and tall wax candles. Rich 
carpets of silk and velvet were scattered over 
the jasper floor, which reflected the alabaster 
columns. Tables inlaid with mother-of-pearl 
were spread with rare and aromatic viands, 
while the shimmering breezes were cooled and 
faindy perfumed by fountains of rose-water. 

But, in spite of all this surrounding splendor, 
the Caliph of Bagdad was unmistakably as cross 
as two sticks, and champed his teeth savagely. 

Through the open windows stole the silvery 
song of the nightingale and the sleepy trill of 
the belated bulbul in the orange-grove beyond 
the courtyard ; and from the high gallery en- 
trancing strains of music swept, above which 
arose the mellow snore of the Grand Vizir, 
snoozing among the damask cushions, with a 
copy of the Bagdad Herald over his face. 

And yet, with a fierce frown upon his pale 
brow, the Caliph pored over the dog-eared 
pages of his primary geography. 

Suddenly he closed the book with a bang. 

" By the six white hairs upon the tail of the 
Prophet's mule ! " quoth he, " these be strange 
tales indeed that the unlettered giaours of the 
West are telling the wise men of the East ! Can 
it be possible that the whole Persian system of 
eclectic geography is in error ? I must inves- 
tigate this matter. Selim I " he cried imperiously 
to the (irand Vizir, who scrambled to his 
sleepy feet with a frightened start, " summon 
the Seven Sages of Bagdad and the Commis- 
sioner of Public Schools ! " 



The Sages were summoned instantly. 

" Bah ! You high-salaried indolents ! " sternly 
hissed the Caliph, " I 've a great notion to dis- 
charge you all I Are n't you ashamed to let 
the pale-faced Franks of Spain get ahead of 
you?" 

" Illustrious Sun of the Noonday ! " faltered 
the oldest among them, " what means this sud- 
den tempest out of a clear sky ? The Prankish 
philosophers do not know even the things that 
we have forgotten. They are but followers 
in our footsteps. We have taught them all 
they know." 

" Oh, have you ? " roared the Caliph. " Per- 
haps, then, ye knew that the world is round ? " 

" Oh, your Majesty ! " gasped the Sages in 
chorus, hurriedly endeavoring to restore their 
paralyzed faculties with their smelling-salts, 
" what sort of a fairy-tale is this ? " 

" Fairy-tale ! " roared the Caliph. " Marry, 
come up! Don't ye ever read the newspapers? 
Have ye not heard that there has arisen in the 
West a wild, strange, white-haired man who 
saith that the world is round like an orange or 
a ball ? If ye did not know it, why have ye not 
found it out long ago ? And if ye did know 
it, why have ye not told me of it before this ? 
Tell me," cried the Caliph in an awful, blood- 
curdling tone, " tell me, ye ignoramuses, is the 
world round or flat ? " 

The Sages fell prostrate upon the gleaming 
floor, and bumped their aged heads against the 
tiles in despair. This riddle was too much for 
them ; they had to give it up. 

With a cruel glitter in his eagle eye the 
Caliph cried to the Chief Chamberlain : " Has- 
san, lock these gentlemen up in the pantry in- 
stantly, and be very careful that not one escapes. 
I will give them fifteen minutes in which to tell 
me positively whether the world be round or 
flat, or give some immediately practicable me- 
thod of finding out." 



146 



THfc: PERSIAN COLUMBUS. 



147 



'riic massive, burnished copper door closed 
with a dismal clang upon the unfortunate and 
despairing Sages ; while the School Commis- 
sioner, arriving just in time to hear the latter 
part of the conversation from the hall-door, 
took to his heels, and iliil not stop until he was 
three miles beyond the city limits and hidden 
under a haystack. 

I'hen the court waited in ominous silence, as 
the sand in the hour-glass trickled out the 
swiftly passing moments. The horizon began 
to look very squally for the Seven Sages of 
Bagdad. 



said the Vizir, warily refusing to commit him- 
self further. " I see clearly." 

" Well then ? " said the Caliph, expectantly, 
looking at Selim. 

" Well then ?" said Selim, dubiously, looking 
at the Caliph, and edging toward the door. 

" I'shaw ! Thou dolt! Dost thou not see 
that if this world be indeed round like this 
orange, a man may ride around it and return 
whence he started ? liismillah ! I have solved 
the problem myself! Aha! I will fool these 
laggard, hesitating Franks; and while King 
Ferdinand hesitates to furnish funds for a fleet, 




"tell me, ye ignoramuses," said the caliph, "is the world round or flat?" 



The Caliph sat sullenly upon the divan, play- 
ing with an orange. Suddenly he gave a start, 
and an immense white smile illuminated his 
swarthy features. "Selim!" he called, "look 
here, my boy ! If this world be indeed round, 
as this imaginative mariner from Genoa de- 
clares, it will not be so difficult to prove, me- 
thinks." 

The Vizir eyed the Caliph with suspicion. 

" If I begin here," continued the Caliph, 
placing his index finger upon the orange, " and 
move onward, my finger soon passes completely 
around the orange and returns to the point 
whence it started. Dost thou see ? " 

" Verily, your majesty, I am not blind I " 



I will show this audacious Christoval Colon 
that he is but a semicolon after all. I will ride 
about the world myself, this very night, and 
thou shalt go with me, Selim ; thou shalt go with 
me, and we will ride around the world ! Make 
haste, and call up the camels. Hurrah ! We 
are going around the world ! " 

" Oh, we are, are we ? " muttered Selim, with 
chattering teeth, as he hurriedly shuffled down 
the back stairs to the stable, to harness up the 
royal equipage. " Around the world, indeed ? 
Who wants to fall over the edge into nothing ? 
Not Selim! Well. I should say not! Not if 
Selim knows it ! " 

Then followed a scene of wild excitement, 



148 



THE PERSIAN COLUMBUS. 



[Dec. 



some hurrying hither and 
thither, some scurrying 
backward and forward, 
some running round and 
round, and some running 
nowhere at all ; while 
hoarse voices shouted, 
camels snorted, horses 
neighed, and countless 
dogs barked until the 
whole city was in an 
uproar. Drums beat, 
spears swayed madly 
overhead, standards flap- 
ped frantically upon their 
swaying staves, dark 
faces gleamed with sav- 
age excitement from 
under snowy turbans. 
And then came a wilder 
clang from the deafen- 
ing cymbals, a louder fanfare from the brazen- 
throated trumpets, and a mighty shout from 
the throats of the excited populace. '• Hail to 
the Caliph ! Hail, all hail ! For he is going 
around the world ! " 

The royal band then struck up " Marching 
Through Persia," the small boys turned cart- 
wheels along the gutter, and the procession 
moved on through the streets of Bagdad. 

Beyond the city gates the caravan halted. 

" Your royal highness," asked Selim the Vi- 
zir, " which way shall we start — north, east, 
south, or west ? " 

"Hum — m — m!" mused the Caliph, strok- 
ing his beard thoughtfully, and getting out his 
railroad map of the Eastern Hemisphere. 

"Hum — m — m!" resumed the Caliph, af- 
ter a short study, " we will not go to the 
west; for Ferdinand and Isabella would be 
sure to see us marching past their house, and 
I want to surprise them by getting all the way 
around before they know anything about it. 
And we \vill not go to the east, because we 
should get too close to the sun when it rises in 
the morning, and might perhaps l)e sunstruck. 
And if we go to the south we shall have to 
ford the Indian Ocean. But I don't like to 
wade, and the stones hurt my bare feet, sn I 
think we won't go south. Hum — m — m! 




IF THE WORLD BE INDEED ROIND, A M.\N MAV RIDE AROUND IT ! 



That leaves only one other direction to go ! 
Well then, we will go in that direction. Ho, 
Gaifar ! " he called with a ringing voice to the 
drum-major at the head of the procession, 
" March straight for the North Star ! " 

Then he went sound asleep, as Gaifar tossed 
his baton high in the air, caught it as it fell, 
gave a triple flip-flap to the right, a double 
flub-dub to the left, and thirteen twirls around 
his little finger. The band struck up, and the 
cavalcade headed across the broad, sandy plain, 
straight for the North Star. 

As the hills along the horizon drew nearer 
and nearer, the Grand Vizir broke into a 
cold perspiration. As he stood erect, cran- 
ing his long neck above the clouds of dust, 
he could see the far sky curve down, down, 
down on the other side of those purple moun- 
tain-peaks. "Ugh — h — h!" he gasped, with 
a shudder of terror. " Something must be 
done, and right away, too ! There is the end 
of the world, and we '11 all fall off and be 
smashed, sure ! " 

Galloping in i)alpitating haste to the side of 
the drum-major, he whispered with terrible im- 
pressiveness, " Gaifar, what do you know about 
astronomy ? " 

" I ? Nothing! " said Gaifar, surprised. 

"Oo — 00 — ooh ! " groaned the Vizir, j)ull- 



I892.J 



THE PERSIAN COLUMBUS. 



149 



plain, the caravan again faced the North Star, 
and, from the other side of the city, was actu- 
ally marching straight back into Bagdad. 

At this juncture the first-cornet player of 
tlie band stubbed his toe. In his excitement 
he blew a blast so loud, so shrill, and so dis- 
corilant that it pierced the ears of the Caliph. 
Waking with a start, he looked about him, 
dazed. Then perceiving the minarets of the 
city, he called furiously for the Grand Vizir, 
who answered on a gallop. 

" Thou dog, why hast thou dared to disobey 
my command ? " thundered the Caliph. 

" Disobey thy command, Sire ? What dost 
thou mean ? " exclaimed the Vizir, with well- 
simulated amazement. 

" What do I mean ? What do I mean ? " 
screamed the Caliph. " Why are we marching 
toward Bagdad, you villain ? " 

" Bagdad ? Bagdad ? " said the Vizir, look- 
ing at the Caliph as if in great surprise at the 



ing a long face, " 1 shouUl not like to be in 
your shoes when the Caliph wakes ! " 

'* Why not } " cried Gaifor, anxiously. 

But the crafty Vizir made no reply. 

*• Gaifar," he whispered sepulchrally again, 
•' did you ever study bacteriology ? " 

" N — no," gasped Gaif^xr, with startled eyes. 

The Vizir groaned again in such an awful 
tone that it chilled the very marrow of the poor 
drum-major's bones. 

'' Oo-oo-oo-ooh ! " groaned the Vizir, until 
Gaifar fairly shook in his buckled shoes. " You 
will never be able to keep us all from falling off 
the under side of earth into nowhere when we 
go over the edge ! " 

"What can I do ?" moaned Gaifar, piteously. 

" Humph!" chuckled the Vizir. "Just give 
me your baton, and go climb up into the band- 
wagon and help beat the bass-drum. I will 
lead this procession myself." 

With a sigh of relief Gaifar slunk out of sight, 
and the Vizir waved 
the baton aloft with a 
crafty look in his eye. 
Tramp, tramp, tramp, 
went the horses' hoofs. 
Puff, puff, puff, strode 
the cushioned camels 
through the sand. But 
the Caliph slept like a 
top through it all. He 
was not going to let a 
little thing like riding 
around the world in- 
terfere with his regular 
sleep. Not he! But 
the sly Vizir, ever wildly 
waving his baton, shout- 
ing, " Onward, en avant, 
vorwarts!" and inciting 
haste, until every one 
behind him in the 
procession was utterly 
blinded by the choking 
dust, swept out of the 
beaten track in a great 
curve, round and round, 

so gradually, so very gradually, that not one question. " Why, your royal highness, we sighted 
noticed it — round and round until, after de- Bagdad a good three hours ago. We must be 
scribing an immense semicircle through the pretty nearly around the world ! " 




'THE VIZIR WAVED THE BATON ALOFT. 



I50 



THE PERSIAN COLUMBUS. 



" Goodness gracious me ! " cried the Caliph, 
in a fever of excitement. " You don't say so ? 
Why did n't you wake me up when we were 
down on the under side ? I might have fallen 
and disarranged some of the stars! Why, 
Selim," he exclaimed enthusiastically, looking 
at his watch, " we shall be back to Bagdad in 
time for breakfast ! " 

" Indeed ? " said the Vizir, with a smile that 
meant as much as four ordinary smiles. " Why, 



And tlie townspeople, wakened out of their 
sound slumbers by the sound of the shouting, 
plunged into their trousers in fright, threw up 
their windows, hurled back the shutters, and 
asked where the fire was, until, learning the 
cause of the uproar, all Bagdad joined in a 
mighty shout of acclaim, " Hail to the Caliph ! 
Hail : For the world is round, and he has rid- 
den around it I " 

Instantly, upon reaching the palace, the 




THE RETURN TO BAGDAD. 



that is so! Even now, methinks, I hear the 
Bagdad town-clock striking four o'clock in the 
morning." 

As he spoke the far-away boom of the great 
bell tolled across the plain, and the roosters be- 
gan to crow in the barn-yards along the way. 

Just as day dawned in the East the head of 
the procession entered the great gate of Bagdad 
in triumph, the Caliph and the Grand Vizir 
riding in state, behind snow-white palfreys; 
while far in advance ran heralds shouting in 
stentorian voices, " Make way for the Caliph ! 
For the world is round, and he has ridden 
around it ! Way for the Caliph ! " 



Caliph in exultation called for his swiftest mes- 
sengers and despatched them to the geography 
publishers with the amazing tidings. " Tell 
them," said he, " that the world is round and 
ridgy like a muskmelon ; and that Persia runs 
completely around it in one direction, and 
pretty nearly around it in the other ! " 

" Now," sighed the Caliph, with a satisfied 
smile, " we will have our breakfast." 

'"And, your royal highness," murmured the 
Vizir, " perhaps it might not be a bad idea, as 
a celebration of your achievement, to let the 
Seven Sages out of the pantry, so that they 
may hear that the world is round." 




ear ^ 



wiiK ^olly 




Bl) ^uaora jg. Bumstcad, 



l)octor Nama l<now5 wKat to do 

W]\en Oii'ls and doJlie5 are ti-oi itled ; 
WitK nettle CLud tKread and a bottle af'^ue 

My ])bllyi Mi-eii^tK .she has doutJed . 
But $]\e never can maXe her new and bright; 

Ini almo5t ashamed to .show her. - 
Tf Santa Claus could See her to-nl^Kt 
I don't Suppose he would Know her . 



Mama Kas said 

A careful, Kind 
He ;Surely will noti _ „ ^ 

And maybe Ke II brin^ me another ; 
Bu.t, dear little Dolly, j/ou need not care 

Nor be jealous one bit if 1 ^^et her , 
Por tho' you may never l^e quite 5o i^'ir, 
I'll only love yoix the better . 



/9 



TLJ]° 



(g C(S)[r[ni 




HiNKADEPENK 

Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rivy tcckaras detik. 
He came to the windmill. "Wife," said he, 
No wind comes over the Zuyder Zee; 
Go up and whirl the mill-wheel round 
Till the corn is ground — the corn is ground." 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rivy teckaras denk. 



Then up she went, the wheels went round, 
ihe corn was ground — the com was ground ; 
The night came on, the day was done, 
Still round and round the mill-wheel spun. 
And Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rivy tcckaras denk. 




III. 
She ground all night, she ground all day- 
In piles around the meal-sacks lay ; 
And none of all the folks could tell 
How she ground so fast, and ground so well. 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tiiy rivy ickaras denk. 



now iiiMs.Ai)i;i'i:MN. gkuund tiil corn. 



53 



He sat at ease by the windmill door, 
And smoked his meerschaum o'er and o'er; 
Wife I look over the Zuyder Zee — 
What do you see — what do you see?" 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klcnk — 
Tivy rivy teckaras deiik. 




" I see a ship Hke a little speck ; 
A gallant Prince is on the deck. 
The sea is still — there is no blast, 
Yet the ship sails fast — the ship sails fast." 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivv rivv teckaras denk. 







VII. 

For the Prince in a voice of anger spoke — 
" You sit and smoke ! You sit and smoke 1 
From mom till night, from night till mom, 
Your poor old wife grinds all the corn ! " 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rhy teckaras denk. 



On the sandy beach, so bare and brown. 
The Prince leaped down — the Prince leaped 

down ; 
He came and stood by the windmill door, 
And Hinkadepenk was frightened sore. 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
2V7J rhy teckaras defik. 




154 



now HINKADEPENK GROUND THE CORN. 



[Dec. 



VIII. 

Then Hinkadepenk he took l)v the hand, 
And danced him a jig through all the land ; 
From Rotterdam to the far Voorne — 
Like the wind went he — like the wind went he. 
And Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy livy ieckaras denk. 




-"iiT 




X. 

And he fell down flat on the wooden floor, 
When the Prince led him back to the wind- 
mill door. 
His pipe was broken, his coat was torn, 
His face forlorn — his face forlorn — 
Then Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Ti'i'y rivy teckaras detik. 



IX. 

He danced him up and he danced 

him down, 
Through Haarlem town and Zaan- 

dem town — 
Over the meadows and over the 

sand. 
From land to sea and from sea to 
the land. 

And Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rivy teckaras denk. 



189=.] 



HOW IllNKADKI'ENK GROUND THK CORN. 



155 



do iij)," said the rriiue, "and j;riiid for 

your life. 
And give some rest to your i)Oor old wife 1 
If ever again I come to the mill, 
\'ou '11 lake a journey longer still!" 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tiv\ rivx ieckaras tkiik. 



.le^^t^^f^^W^^ 





XII. 

His wife, an easy life leads she, 
As she sits and looks on the Zuyder Zee — 
For Hinkadepenk went up in the mill 
To grind the corn, and he 's grinding still. 
So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy rivy teckaras deuk. 



XIII. 

From morn till night, from night till morn, 

He is grinding corn — he is grinding corn ; 

He fears to stop forevermore. 

Lest the Prince should come to the wind- 
mill door. 

So Hinkadepenk 
Set up de klenk — 
Tivy ?'ivy teckaras denk. 




CHORUS. 



f=f=^M ^ 



I i 



.So Hin - ka - de - penk Set up de klenk, 



Ti - vy, ri - vy, tec - ka - ras denk. 



is6 



JACK-IN-THE- PULPIT. 



[Dec. 















^5 JACK-IX-THE-PULPIT. 



" Don't you think December 's 
Pleasanter than May?" 

The Little Schoolma'am says a well-known poet, 
Mr. T. B. Aldrich by name, has put this question 
to you young folk in some cheery verses, and left 
you to settle it for yourselves. Answer it as pleases 
you, my dears, — not forgetting that if May has 
the bloom o' the year and the flowers, and the 
rosy blossoms glowing in the sun, December has 
the gleaming frost, the snow and ice, and the 
beautiful Christmas-tide — the one great Day of 
all days ; the season when the joy of giving illu- 
mines everything and everybody. Happy, indeed, 
should be the month that holds Christmas in its 
heart. 

But, as to that question of May and December, 
my birds have something to say, I find. Here is 
a little confab about it between the bluebird and 
the sparrow, faithfully reported for you — and in 
verse, too — by our friend, Margaret Vandegrift : 

A WINTER RESORT. 

"Are n't you going South?" said the bluebird to the 
sparrow. 

"Winter 's almost here, and we 're clearing up to go. 
Not a seed is left on the goldenrod or yarrow, 
And I heard the farmer say, ' It feels like snow I' 
I can recommend it, the place to which we 're going; 
There 's a rainy season, to be sure, but wliat of that? 
Not a bit of ice, and it never tliinks of snowing, 
And the fruit so plentiful one can't help gelling fat! " 

" Yes, I 've heard about it," to the bluebird said the 
sparrow ; 

"And it's quite the fashion to go traveling, I know; 
People who don't do it are looked upon as ' narrow.' 
Bless you! I don't care! And I 'm not afraid of snow. 



When it comes the first time, I so enjoy my feathers ; 
.\fter that I 'm used to it, and do not mind at all. 
One can fly about, and keep warm so in all weathers ; 
I '%e a snuggery, too, in the ivy on the wall. 

"When the seeds are gone — and they're not before 

December — 
I can still find spiders and flies on sunny days ; 
And I 've all the lovely summer to remember; 
My old friends are here, and they know my little ways. 
Just as soon as ever tlie ground is frozen tightly, 
.\11 those nice kind creatures in the houses throw us 

crumbs. 
One forgets it 's winter, wiien the sun is shinmg 

brightly. 
I 'm content to stay here, and take it as it comes." 

CHOOSE YOUR CHRISTMAS GIFT. 

Dear J.\ck : Here is a picture that may be used to 
discover what your friends would like for Christmas, 
without letting them know that you have found out their 
preferences. 

Copy upon separate cards this series of names : 



Jewel-case, i. 


Gold watch, i. 


Cojogne, I. 1 


Cane, 2. 


Pocket-book, 2. 


Drivmg-gloves, 2. | 


Fishing-tackle, 3. 


Air-gun, 3. 


Bat and ball, 3. 


Hoop, 4. 


Wax doll, 4. 


Set of toy furniture, 4. 


Rattle, 5. 


Flannel rabbit, 5. 


Milk-pitcher, 5. 


Velocipede, 6. 


Toy boat, 6. 


Tin sword, 6. 


Jack-sti^ws, 7. 


Battledore and shut- 


Cup and ball, 7. 


Rocking-horse, 8. 


decock, 7. 


Roller-skates, 8. 


Lawn-tennis set, 9. 


Whip, 8. 


Box of water-colors, 9., 


Air-balloon, 10. 


Wnting-desk, 9. 


China doll, 10. 




Blow-gun, 10. 




Inkstand, i. 


Diary, i. 


Brooch, I. 


Foils, 2. 


Boxing-gloves, 2. 


Shot-gun, 2. 


Foot-ball, J. 


Camera, 3. 


Box of tools, 3. 


Doll's carnage, 4. 


Play-house, 4. 


Kaleidoscope, 4. 


Lace cap, 5. 


Little bracelets, 5. 


Necklace, 5. 


Belt, 6. 


Marbles, 6. 


Tops, 6. 


Dissected map, 7. 


Paper dolls, 7. 


Toy piano, 7. 


Picture-book, 8. 


Toy soldiers, 8. 


Wagon, 8. 


Opera-glasses, 9. 


Smelling-bottle, 9. 


Lace handkerchief, 9. 


Drum, 10. 


Elastic ball, 10. 


Funny little toy mon-j 
key, 10. 


Umbrella, i. 


Ear-rings, i. 


Gloves, 1. 


Silk hat, 2. 


Ulster, 2. 


Blacking outfit, 2. 


Printing-press. 3. 


Canoe, 3. 


Skates, 3. 


Doll's tea-set, 4. 


Scarf, 4. 


Sewing-case, 4. 


Silver spoon, 5. 


Baby jumper, 5. 


Little chair, 5. 


Kite, 6. 


Rubber boots, 6. 


Helmet, 6. 


Skipping-rope, 7. 


Toy stove, 7. 


Tricycle, 7. 


Bow-gun, 8. 


Humming-top, 8. 


Bicycle, 8. 


Parasol, 9. 


Chatelaine, 9. 


Toilet set, 9. 


Goat, 10. 


Hobby-horse, 10. 


India-rubber toys, 10. 


jCard-case, i. Noah's arl 


c, 6. 




|Dress-suit, 2. Pug-dog, 5 
Story-book, 3. Roller-ska 






es, 8. 




Doll's wardrobe, 4. Fan, 9. 






Baby carriage, 5. Jumpmg-j 


ick, 10. 





Take a set of ten envelops and mark tliem A, B, C, 
and so on up to J — one letter to each envelop. 

Now your friend selects a card that contains the name 
of the present he prefers, places the card in the envelop 
marked with the initial of the last present named on that 
card, and places the envelop on the picture with a cor- 
ner touching that stocking which is in the same order 
(from left to right) as his chosen present is in the list on 
the card he has selected. 

Thus, there are on each card 10 presents, and there 
are 10 stockings. If he has chosen the third present he 
puts the envelop touching the third stocking ; fifth pres- 
ent, fifth stocking. 

The second series of cartls, whicli here follows. 



1893.] 



.IAc:K-IN-TIIE- PULPIT, 



157 



JeweUcase. 
uold watch. 


Cane. 


Fishing-tackle. 


Pocket-book. 


Air-gun. 


Cologne. 


Driving-gloves. 


Bat and ball. 


Inksund. 


Foils. 


Foot-ball. 


Diary. 1. 


Bo.ving-gloves. 2. 


Camera. ■\. 


Brooch. 


Shot-gun. 


Box of tools. 


Umbrella. 


Silk hat. 


Printing-press. 


Ear-rings. 


Ulster. 


Canoe. 


Gloves. 


Blacking outfit. 


Skates. 


Card-case. 


Dress-suit. 


Story-book. 


; Hoop. 


Rattle. 


Velocii)ede. 


Wa.x doll. 


Kl.uinel nibbit. 


Toy boat. 


Set of toy funiiturc. 


•Milk-pitcher. 


Tin sword. 


Doll's carriage. 


Lace cap. 


Belt. 


Play-house. 4. 


Little bracelets. 5. 


Marbles. 6. 


Kaleidoscope. 


Necklace. 


Tops. 


Doll's tea-set. 


Silver spoon. 


Kite. 


Scarf. 


Baby jumper. 


Rubber boots. 


Sewing-case. 


Little chair. 


Helmet. 


Doll's wardrobe. 


Baby carriage. 


Noah's ark. 




Jack-straws. 


Dissected map. 


Skipping-rope. 






Battledore and sh 


ut- Paper dolls. 


Toy stove. 
Tncycle. 7. 






tiecock. 


Toy piano. 






Cup and ball. 




Pug-dog. 





Rocking-horse. 


Lawn-tennis set. 


Air-balloon. 


Whip. 


Writing-desk. 


Blow-gun. 


kollcr->kates. 


Box of water-colors. 


China doll. 


I'ictiire-biiiik. 


Opera-tilasses. 


Drum 


loy soldiers. 8. 


Smelling-bottle. 0. 
Lace handkerchief. 


K.lastic ball. 


Wag.m. 


Funny little loy mon- 


How-gun. 


Parasol, 


key. 10. 


Humming-top.' 


Chatelaine. 


Goat. 


Bicycle. 


Toilet set. 


Hobby-horse. 


Roller-skates. 


Fan. 


India-rubber toys. 
Jumping-jack. 



is your secret key. The stocking chosen tells you whicli 
key card to consult, and the envelop letter tells you which 
on that card has been chosen, — A being i ; U, 2 ; and so 
on. Envelop G, near the sixth stocking, would mean 
seventh present on sixth card, and so on. You need not 
explain the trick, but can tell your friends mysteriously 
that Santa Glaus will know what they want if they will 
only follow directions. Yours truly, J. G. Beard. 




THE LETTER-BOX. 



In the September number of St. Nicholas the pic- 
ture on page 824, entitled " Hickory Dickory Dock," 
was wrongly credited in the Contents to Mrs. Dorothea 
Lummis. .\t Mrs. Lummis's request we gladly correct 
the error, and give the credit to Miss Lucie B. Salter, of 
Portsmouth, X. H., who made the original photograph 
from which our picture is engraved. 



St. Petersburg, Russia. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl of twelve years 
old, who lives 'way out in Russia. 1 am an American, 
not a Russian. We have lived here in St. Petersburg for 
seven years, but we are going home next autumn. 

We have n't very many pets, but some of them are very 
funny. We have got a dog, but he is very old now ; he 
used to be great fun. Then we have two young rab- 
bits, two guinea-pigs, and three birds. 

We have taken you for a very long time, and I have 
only once seen a letter from St. Petersburg, and that was 
written by my brother. 

In summer we live out of town, and have very good 
boating, bathing, and driving. 

I don't go to school, but have lessons at home with a 
governess, and learn four languages : Russian, German, 
French, and English ; but Russian is by far the hardest. 

I have been collecting stamps over two years, and have 
got nearly a thousand. 

I remain your loving reader, A R . 



West Poixt, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl, twelve years 
old, and my father is in the army. 

This is a very beautiful place, and a great many people 
visit here in summer. Some of the objects of interest 
are the library, riding-hall, and gymnasium. There is 
also a little point containing trophies of the wars, which 
is called Trophy Point. From our house we have a beau- 
tiful view of the Hudson and Constitution Island, where 
Miss Warner lives. 

I am your constant reader, Helen L. K . 



Washington, D. C. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a page in the Senate, and 
am on duty at the Capitol from 9 A. M. until the Senate 
adjourns, which is about 5 or half-past 5 i*. M., or earlier 
when there is not much business on hand. 

From a few minutes after 9 until 12 noon, there is 
nothing much for us to do, but after 12, which is the 
hour the Senate meets, until it adjourns, we have plenty 
of work attending to the .Senators' wants and going on 
errands. 

A good many of the pages — there are fifteen — are get- 
ting autograph -books filled, for themselves or friends ; 
and just before the session — we cannot get them after the 
Senate meets — you can see the boys, with books big as 
themselves, sometimes, going round to the Senators to get 
them to write in them. 

A good while ago some of us organized a mock sen- 



ate, and we used to go up behind the " document-room," 
where all the books and papers of the Senate are kept. 
We used to hold sessions and make speeches without 
number up there among the documents, until at last we 
grew tired of it, and adjourned it "sine die," or forever. 
Please receive the best wishes from 

Your devoted reader, "V." 



U. S. Lighthouse-Tknder "Lily," 
St. Louis, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have taken you so long now, 
I do not think I could get along without you. Papa 
gave you to me for Christmas when I was a wee girl, 
and now I am fourteen, and wherever we go I have my 
St. Nicholas. Just before we left the Norfolk Navy-yard 
two years ago I wrote you a letter, and when papa came 
out here as Lighthouse Inspector, my St. Nicholas 
was forwarded to me and my letter was in it, and papa 
and mama were so surprised, for they did not know I 
had written. We expect to be out here one year more. 
I spend my vacations on the "Lily" — the lighthouse- 
tender. Did you know that all but two or three of the 
tenders are called after the different flowers ? The 
"Lily" goes from Cairo, 111., to St. Paul, Minn., and 
from St. Louis to Kansas City, and St. Louis to La 
Salle, 111., so we go over about eighteen hundred miles 
of river, including the Mississippi, Missouri, and Illinois 
rivers. We see some very queer people and funny 
places. I am at hoarding-school from September until 
June. We still have our parrot and canary I wrote 
about two years ago, and now a mocking-bird. We 
start for St. Paul the day after to-morrow, and it will 
take us just about a month or a little over to make the 
trip, as we always have to move, paint, and repair the 
lights or beacons. Does it not seem ridiculous that a 
lighthouse should be nothing but a pole stuck in the 
ground and made firm with three sticks or braces, and 
a pair of steps to reach a small shelf that holds the lan- 
tern, which is lighted eacli night by the keeper? The 
keepers get from eight to fifteen dollars per month ; 
some of the keepers are intelligent men, while others are 
very ignorant ; but they are all glad to get the money for 
keeping the lights. 

Your devoted reader, N. V. W. 



Paris, France. 

Dear St. Nicholas : This is the second time I write 
to you, to say how much I like your journal, it is so full 
of pretty stories and pictures. I like the story of "Two 
Girls and a Boy" more tiian I can say. I like also lo 
read the letters of your little subscribers, they are so well 
written. Indeed, I have no book or " review " so interest- 
ing and amusing as yours. 

Each time I receive St. Nicholas, it is in the middle 
of my English lesson ; so I can't open it just at that 
moment ; but I cannot express my joy when sometimes 
my mistress permits me to open it as a reward ; so pleased 
I am when I have this permission. Good-by, dear St. 
Nicholas, Your little subscriber, 

Madeleine c; . 



158 




ANSWERS TO I'L'/ZI.IS IN THli NOVKMIUIR NLMlil.K 



WoRD-SQi'ARB. I. Yodel. 2. Opera. 3. Depot. 4. Erode. 
5. Latex. 

Cross-word Enigma, rteethoven. 

Tkipi-k Acrostic. First row, starts ; middle row, dative ; last 
row, meddle. Cross-words: i. Stadium. 2. Treacle. 3. .Abutled. 
4. Repined. 5. Trivial. 6. Steeple. 

Anagram. Thomas Babington Macaulay. 

Zigzag. " Sage of Monticello." Cross-words: i. Sole. 2. rAid. 
3. satJo. 4. mazK. 5. plOd. 6. aFar. 7. Maul. 8. hOnd. 9. faNg. 
10. griT. n. brig. 12. aCfs. 13. Even. 14. cLse. 15. baLk. 
16. poIO. 

Diamonds Connected Bv A Central Square. I. i. R. 2. Lad. 
3. Laden. 4. Radical. 5. Decay. 6. Nay. 7. L. II. i. G. 2. Mew. 
3. Minor. 4. (Jeneral. 5. Worry. 6. Kay. 7. L. III. i. Salad. 

2. Anise. 3. Limit. 4. Aside. 5. Deter. IV. i. T. 2. Net. 

3. Negus. 4. Tegular. 5. Tulip. 6. Sap. 7. R. V. i. T. 2. Orb. 
3. Odium. 4. Trivial. 5. Uuild. 6. Mad. 7. L. 



Cl'BH. From i to 2, declare: i to 3, deposit ; 2 to 4, exalted; 
3 to 4, thyroid ; 5 to 6, scooper ; 5 to 7, spangle ; 6 to 8, regress ; 
7 10 8, emblems ; i to 5, dais ; 2 to 6, Emir ; 4 to 8, dubs ; 3 to 7, 
tame. 

Numerical Enigma. "Justice is often pale and melancholy; 
but (Gratitude, her daughter, is constantly in the flow of spirits and 
the bloom of loveliness." 

Pi. Dear autumn days, so calm, so sweet. 

Like a bright, welcome memory you seem ; 
So full of tremulous and hazy light. 
So soft, so radiant, so like a dream. 



Double Acrostic. Primals, Jupiter; finals, Neptune, 
words : i. Jacobin. 2. Unaware. 3. Parsnip. 4. Implant, 
bicau. 6. Erasion. 7. Restore. 

Rhomboids. I. i. Opera. 2. Award. 3. Endor. 4 
5. Repay. II. i. Meter. 2. David. 3. Redan. 4. 
5. Sewer. Two first words, operameter. 



Cross- 
5. Ta- 



Total. 
Renew. 



To OUR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nichol.-\s " Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

.Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from Paul Reese — Maude 
E. Palmer — " Xelis " — G. B. Dyer — Grace V. Morris — Mama, Katie, and Jamie — Josephine Sherwood — Jo and I — Uncle Mung — 
Adele, Jack, and George A. — A. W. A., S. W. A., W. W. A., and A. P. C. A. — "December and May" — "Wareham" — No Name, 
Minneapolis. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 15th, from "Hieroglyphics." 11 — "Bald 
He.^d," I — Rosalie Bloomingdale, 11 — Matilda W. Bailey, i — " Berkshire," 2 — M. and L. , 2 — Elaine S., i — Marion and Carrie C, i — 
" The McG.'s," 11 — Helen A. Ely, 3 — Adele Wohnlich, i — Edith Totten, i — Jamsie A. M. and Mama, 4 — Arthur B. Cook, i — Gertrude 
Kerr, i — Sadie R. S., 3 — "Chestnut," 5 — Evelyn de Zouche, 2 — L. H. K., i — Clara W., i — May Martin, i — Louise and Helen 
Freeman, i — Charlie D. Harmon, i — Marion Alice Perkins, 4 — " Crew of the Sunshine," i — Coody and Katharine Van Coughnet, i — 
Mama and Harry, 5 — E. M. G. , 10 — Evelyn de Zouche, i — " Bubbles," 4 — Nellie Archer, 4 — Willie H., i — Effie K. Talboys, 7^ 
"V.," 2— N. J Borden, 3 — Melville Hunnewell, 3 — Nellie L. Howes, 8— Ida C. Thallon, ii — M. Elizabeth Breed, i— A. C. 
H., I — "Clifford St. Girls," 10 — Blanche and Fred, 11 — Miriam Bingay, i — Chester B. Sumner, 9 — " Maro," 3 — Laura M. Zinser, 4 — 
L. Hutton and V. Beede, 10 — Jessie Chapman, 8 — Charlotte C. Moses, 11 — Julia Johnson, i — Dora F. Hereford, 7 — " Highmount 
Girls," 7 — Ethel Wright, i — Agnes C. Leaycraft, 2 — Ella B. Lyon, 2 — " May and '79," 7 — H. H. and L. O., 5 — " Infantry," ii — 
" We Girls," 8 — Mama and Lillie, 2 — Rachel Greene, i. 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

My primals name one of the Fates, and my finals, the 
wife of Orpheus. 

Cross-words (of equal length): i. Unrestrained. 
2. Farewell. 3. To provide food. 4. A masculine 
name. 5. Finished. 6. A famous mountain. 7. A 
masculine name. 8. To allay. "CLio." 

CONNECTED SQUARES. 



I. Upper Left-hand Square: i. A junto. 2. A 
large South American serpent. 3. Makes a round hole 
through. 4. A catkin. 5. Remains. 



II. Upper Right-hand Square : i. To speak fool- 
ishly. 2. A large bird. 3. To turn aside. 4. Concise. 
5. To be admitted to, 

III. Central Sqi'are: i. A valley or low place. 

2. Something that Otway says was made " to temper 
man." 3. To modify in any way for the better. 4. A 
spear carried by horsemen. 5. A finisher. 

IV. Lower Left-hand Square : i. Speed. 2. One 
of the Mohammedan nobility of Afghanistan and Scinde. 

3. A smoker's delight. 4. To annoy. 5. Deviated from 
the true course. 

V. Lower Right-hand Square: i. An animal 
allied to the civet. 2. Benefit. 3. Satisfied. 4. A con- 
tinued attempt to gain possession. 5. Prior in years. 

F. s. F. 
ZIGZAG. 

All of the words described contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When these are rightly guessed and 
placed one below another, in the order here given, the 
zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell 
four words. 

CrosS-WORD.s : I. Hydromel. 2. Predilection. 3. .\ 
small, flat-bottomed rowboat. 4. To fix firmly. 5. Cir- 
culates rapidly. 6. The cuhninalion. 7. To course with 
hounds. 8. A prismatic play of colors. 9. To leave 
undone. 10. To proceed without hindrance or opposi- 
tion. II. The one and the other. 12. An Arabian 
military commander. 13. A cooper's tool. 14. An 
island. 15. To satisfy the appetite. 16. An air sung 
by a single voice. 17. .\ deep trench around the ram- 
part of a castle. 18. One united to another by treaty. 
19. A stroke with a whip. o. B. G. 



i6o 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 








THE ST. NICHOLAS PUZZLE. 

Divide this picture in four parts so that each part will 
contain three magazines and will be identical in sha]3e 
and size. You must not draw through any of the maga- 
zines. If you solve the puzzle correctly you will have 
four pieces of paper of tlie same shape and size, and each 
piece will have on it three magazines in perfect condition. 
It is possible to solve the puzzle in two ways. 

To show the solution, make a tracing of the picture 
on thin paper. This can be cut, and the four pieces in- 
closed with answers to other puzzles. 

WORD-SQUARE.S. 

I. I. To imprint. 2. A number. 3. Tapestry. 4. In- 
tended. 5. Nuisances. 

II. I. Musical instruments. 2. To reverence. 3. A 
bird. 4. Conceited fellows. 5. Meaning. 

"WEE 3." 
PRIMAL ACROSTIC. 

Ai.i, of the words described contain the same numlier 
of letters. When rightly guessed, and placed one below 
another in the order here given, the initial letters will 
spell the name of a famous man who was born on Christ- 
mas Day, two hundred and fifty years ago. 

Cross-worus: I. A man noted for his wisdom. 2. To 
incite to action. 3. To wander without restraint or direc- 
tion. 4. A celebrated Greek epic poem. 5. A number. 
6. .'\ projecting or sharp corner. 7. To do away with. 
8. A man of coarse nature and manners. 9. Pertaining 
10 the back. 10. A bird remarkable for its strength. 



size, and graceful flight. 11. To diminish by constant 
loss. 12. A small drum used as an accompaniment to a 
fife. 13. One of several species of European thrushes. 
14. One of a race that has no fixed location. M. o. G. 

HOLLOW ST. ANDREW'S CROSS. 



I. Upper Left-hand Di.\MONO: i. In shovel. 2. To 
indite. 3. .\ goddess. 4. A fruit of certain trees. 5. In 
shovel. 

II. Upper Right-hand Diamond : i. In shovel. 
2. .\n adversary. 3. To whistle. 4. To instigate. 5. In 
shovel. 

III. Lower Left-hand Diamond: i. In shovel. 
2. A metal vessel. 3. A feminine name. 4. A short sleep. 
5. In shovel. 

IV. Lower Right-hand Diamond: i. In shovel. 
2. To plan. 3. The nether world. 4. A wooden pin. 
q. In shovel. A. P. C. A. 



THE DF. VINNF PRESS, NPW YORK. 




ON NKW YEARS DAY IN THIi MORNING. 

DKAWN ANU UNOUAVEIJ UY IKANK IKENtH. 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XX. JANUARY, 1893. No. 3. 

Copyright, 1892, by The Centi'ry Co. All rights reserved. 



ON NEW YEAR'S DAY IN THE MORNING. 



By Helen Gray Cone. 



Rose-Red, upon the threshold swaying, 
With eager looks and cheeks aglow, 

Half blames her elders for delaying 
To breathe the air of morn and snow. 



Though fireside nooks be close and cozy, 
Though table-talk be kind and gay, 

Outdoors the rising smoke is rosy, 

The sky swept clean for New Year's Day. 

The pigeons wheel around the steeple, 
Against the azure, pure and cold : 

How can it be that grown-up people 
Don't care about the morning's gold ? 

Run on, Rose-Red, the keen light facing 
With eyes of welcome, brave and clear; 

With winds and winged shadows racing 
To meet and greet the young New Year! 

And tell him. Sweet, that we refused to; 

For we were only partly glad : 
We liked the Old Year we were used to. 

But sent him yc^u — the best we had! 
163 



~i^^ 



€^. 



y 



^\m^ m^' 



^ 



M 







/- ■ ■ "v 



<M5- 



x^*' 





By Rudyard Kipling. 



OW this is the 
true tale that 
was told to 
Punch and 
Judy, his sister, 
by their nurse, 
in the city of 
Bombay, ten 
^ thousand miles 

from here. They were playing in the veranda, 
waiting for their mother to come back from her 
evening drive. The big jjink crane, who gener- 
ally lived by himself at the bottom of the garden 
because he hated horses and carriages, was with 
them too, and the nurse, who was called the 
ayah, was making him dance by throwing pieces 



of mud at him. Pink cranes dance very pret- 
tily until they grow angry. Then they peck. 

This pink crane lost his temper, opened his 
wings, and clattered his beak, and the ayah had 
to sing a song which never fails to quiet all 
the cranes in Bombay, It is a very old song, 
and it says : 

Buggle baita nuddee kinara, 
Tooni-toom musliia kaye, 
Nuddee kinara kanta lugga 
Tullaka-tullaka ju jaye. 

I'hat means: A crane sat by the river-bank, 
eating fish tootn-toom, and a thorn in the river- 
bank pricked him, and his life went away tullaka- 
tullaka — drop by drop. The ayah and Punch 



.64 



THE rOTfED PRINCESS. 



165 



ami Jiiily al\va\s talked Hindustani bt.'cause 
they understood it better than Knglish. 

" See now," said Punch, clapping his hands. 
" He knows, and lie is ashamed. Tullaka-ttil- 
laka, Jii Jayef Go away!" 

" 7)t//iiki7-tu//aka."' said little Judy, who was 
five; anil the pink crane shut up his beak and 
went down to the bottom of the garden to the 
cocoa-nut palms and the aloes and the red 
peppers. Punch followed, shouting '■'■iullaka- 
tul/aka.'" till the crane hopped over an aloe 
hedge and Punch got pricked by the spikes. 
Then he cried, because he was only seven, and 
because it was so hot that he was wearing very 
few clothes and the aloes had pricked a great 
deal of him ; and Judy cried too, because Punch 
was crying, and she knew that that meant some- 
thing worth crying for. 

" Ohoo ! " said Punch, looking at both his fat 
little legs together, " I am very badly pricked 
by the very bad aloe. Perhaps I shall die ! " 

" Punch will die because he has been pricked 
by the very bad aloe, and then there will be 
only Judy," said Judy. 

" No," said Punch, very quickly, putting his 
legs down. " Then you will sit up to dinner 
alone. I will not die; but, ayah, I am very 
badly pricked. What is good for that ? " 

The ayah looked down for a minute, just to 
see that there were two tiny pink scratches on 
Punch's legs. Then she looked out across the 
garden to the blue water of Bombay harbor, 
where the ships are, and said : 

" Once upon a time there was a Rajah." 
" Rajah " means king in Hindustani, just as 
" ranee " means queen. 

" Will Punch die, ayah ? " said Judy. She too 
had seen the pink scratches, and they seemed 
very dreadful to her. 

" No," said Punch. " Ayah is telling a tale. 
Stop crying, Judy." 

" And the Rajah had a daughter," said the 
ayah. 

" It is a new tale," said Punch. " The last 
Rajah had a son, and he was turned into a 
monkey. Hssh ! " 

The ayah put out her soft brown arm, picked 
Judy off the matting of the veranda, and tucked 
her into her lap. Punch sat cross-legged close 
by. 



*' That Rajah's daughter was very beautiful," 
the ayah went on. 

" How beautiful ? More beautiful than 
mamma ? Then I do not believe this tale," said 
Punch. 

" She was a Hxiry princess, Punch baba, and 
she was very beautiful indeed ; and when she 
grew up the Rajah her father saitl that she must 
marry the best prince in all India." 

" Where did all these things happen ? " said 
Punch. 

" In a big forest near Delhi. So it was told 
to me," said the ayah. 

" Very good," said Punch. " When 1 am big 
1 will go to Delhi. Tell the tale, ayah." 

" Therefore the King made a talk with his 
magicians — men with white beards who do 
Jadoo (magic), and make snakes come out of 
baskets, and grow mangos from little stones, 
such as you. Punch, and you, Judy baba, have 
seen. But in those days they did much more 
wonderful things : they turned men into tigers 
and elephants. And the magicians counted the 
stars under which the Princess was born." 

"I — I do not understand this," said Judy, 
wriggling on the ayah's lap. Punch did not 
understand either, but he looked very wise. 

The ayah hugged her close. " How should 
a baby understand ? " she said softly. " It is in 
this way. When the stars are in one position 
when a child is born, it means well. When they 
are in another position, it means, perhaps, that 
the child may be sick or ill-tempered, or she 
may have to travel very far away." 

" Must I travel far away ? " said Judy. 

" No, no. There were only good little stars 
in the sky on the night that Judy baba was 
born, — little home-keeping stars that danced 
up and down, they were so pleased." 

" And I _ I — I ! What did the stars do 
when I was born ? " said Punch. 

" There was a new star that night. I saw 
it. A great star with a fiery tail all across the 
sky. Punch will travel far." 

" That is true. I have been to Nassik in 
the railway-train. Never mind the Princess's 
stars. What did the magic-men do ? " 

" They consulted the stars, little impatient, 
and they said that the Princess must be shut 
up in such a manner that only the very best 



1 66 



THE POTTED PRINCESS. 



(Jan. 



of all the princes in India could take her out. 
So they shut her up, when she was sixteen 
years old, in a big, deep grain-jar of dried clay, 
with a cover of plaited grass." 

'• I have seen them in the Bombay market," 
said Judy. '* Was it one of the very big kind ? " 
The ayah nodded, and Judy shivered, for her 
father had once held her up to look into the 
mouth of just such a grain-jar, and it was full 
of empty darkness. 

" How did they feed her? " said Punch. 

" She was a fairy. Perhaps she did not want 
food," the ayah began. 

*' All people want food. This is not a true 
tale. I shall go and beat the crane." Punch 
got up on his knees. 

" No, no. I have forgotten. There was 
plenty of food — plantains, red and yellow 
ones, almond curd, boiled rice and peas, fowl 
stuffed with raisins and red peppers, and cakes 
fried in oil with coriander seeds, and sweet- 
meats of sugar and butter. Is that enough 
food ? So the Princess was shut up in the 
grain-jar, and the Rajah made a proclamation 
that whoever could take her out should marry 
her and should govern ten provinces, sitting 
upon an elephant with tusks of gold. That 
proclamation was made through all India." 

" We did not hear it, Punch and I," said 
Judy. " Is this a true tale, ayah ? " 

" It was before Punch was bom. It was be- 
fore even I was born, but so my mother told it 
to me. And when the proclamation was made, 
there came to Delhi hundreds and thousands 
of princes and rajahs and great men. The 
grain-jar with the cover of the plaited grass 
was set in the middle of all, and the Rajah said 
that he would allow to each man one year in 
which to make charms and learn great things 
that would open the grain-jar." 

" I do not understand," said Judy again. 
She had been looking down the garden for 
her mother's return, and had lost the thread 
of the tale. 

" The jar was a magic one, and it was to be 
opened by magic," said Punch. "Go on, ayah. 
I understand." 

The ayah laughed a little. " Yes, the Rajah's 
magicians told all the princes that it was a 
magic jar, and led them three times round it, 



muttering under their beards, and bade them 
come back in a year. So the Princes, and the 
Subedars, and the Wazirs, and the Maliks rode 
away east and west and north and south, and 
consulted the magicians in their fathers' courts, 
and holy men in caves." 

" Like the holy men I saw at Nassik on the 
mountain ? They were all miugapuuga (naked), 
but they showed me their little gods, and I 
burned stuff that smelt in a pot before them 
all, and they said I was a Hindu, and — " Punch 
stopped, out of breath. 

" Yes. Those were the men. Old men 
smeared with ashes and yellow paint did the 
princes consult, and witches and dwarfs that 
live in caves, and wise tigers and talking horses 
and learned parrots. They told all these men 
and all these beasts of the Princess in the grain- 
jar, and the holy men and the wise beasts 
taught them charms and spells that were very 
strong magic indeed. Some of the princes they 
advised to go out and kill giants and dragons, 
and cut off their heads. And some of the 
princes stayed for a year with the holy men 
in forests, learning charms that would imme- 
diately split open great mountains. There was 
no charm and no magic that these princes and 
subedars did not learn, for they knew that the 
Rajah's magicians were very strong magicians, 
and therefore they needed very, very strong 
charms to open the grain-jar. So they did all 
these things that I have told, and also cut off 
the tails of the little devils that hve on the sand 
of the great desert in the north ; and at last 
there were very few dragons and giants left, 
and poor people could plough without being 
bewitched any more. 

" Only there was one prince that did not ride 
away with the others, for he had neither horse 
nor saddle, nor any men to follow him. He 
was a prince of low birth, for his father had 
married the daughter of a potter, and he was 
the son of his mother. So he sat down on the 
ground, and the little boys of the city driving 
the cattle to pasture threw mud at him." 

" Ah!" said Punch, " mud is nice. Did they 
hit him ? " 

" I am telling the tale of the Princess, and if 
there are so many questions, how can I finish 
before bedtime ? He sat on the ground, and 



1893.) 



THK rOTTKI) I'KINCKSS. 



167 



presently his inothor, ihr Kaiicc, (aim.- by, 
gathering sticks to cook bread, and lie told her 
of the I'rincess and the grain-jar. Anil she 
said: 'Remember that a \Mi is a |)()t, and thou 
art the son of a potter.' 'ihen she went a\va\ 
with those dry sticks, and the Potter-prince 
waited till the end of the year. Then the 
princes returned, as many of them as were left 
over from the fights that they had fought. Tliey 
brought with them the terrible cut-off heads of 
the giants and the dragons, so that people fell 
down with fright ; and the tails of all the little 
devils, bunch by bunch, tied up with string; and 
the feathers of magic birds; and their holy men 
and dwarfs and talking beasts came with them. 
And there were bullock-carts full of the locked 
books of magic incantations and spells. The 
Rajah appointed a day, and his magicians 
came, and the grain-jar was set in the middle 
of all, and the 
princes began, 
according to 
their birth and 
the age of their 
famihes, to open 
the grain-jar by 
means of their 
charm- work. 
There were very 
many princes, 
and the charms 
were very strong, 
so that as they 
performed the 
ceremonies the 
lightning ran 
about the ground 
as a broken egg 
runs over the 
cook-house floor, 
and it was thick, 
dark night, and 
the people heard 
the voices of i%-4_ - 
devils and dj inns ■ mi 1 ,v. ukimsg 1 

and talking ti- 
gers, and saw them running to and fro about 
the grain-jar till the ground shook. But, none 
the less, the grain-jar did not open. And the 
next day the ground was split up as a log of 



wood is split, ami great rivers flowed uj) and 
down the plain, and magic armies with banners 
walked in < ircles — so great was the strength of 
the charms. .Snakes, too, crawled round the 
grain-jar and hissed, but none the less the jar 
did not open. When morning came the holes 
in the ground had closed up, and the rivers 




HI-: TAITLE TO PASTURE THREW MID AT HIM. 



were gone away, and there was only the plain. 
And that w\is because it was all magic charm- 
work which cannot last." 

" Aha ! " said Punch, drawing a deep breath. 



1 68 



THE POTTED PRINCESS. 



[Jan. 



'• I am glad of that. It was only magic, Judy, grain-jar's cover and he lifted it up, and the 

Tell the tale, ayah." Princess came out ! Then the people said, 

•• At the very last, when they were all wearied 'This is very great magic indeed'; and thev 




" THE PEOPLE HEARD THR VOICES OF DJINNS AND TALKING TIGERS, AND SAW THEM Kl NNING TO AND FKO 
ABOUT THE GRAIN-JAR TILL THE GROUND SHOOK." 



out and the holy men began to bite their 
nails with vexation, and the Rajah's magicians 
laughed, the Potter-Prince came into the plain 
alone, without even one little talking beast or 
wise bird, and all the people made jokes at 
him. But he walked to the grain-jar and 
cried, ' A pot is a pot, and I am the son of a 
potter!' and he put his two hands upon the 



began to chase the holy men and the talking 
beasts uj) and down, meaning to kill them. But 
the Rajah's magicians said : ' This is no magic 
at all, for we did not put any charm upon the 
jar. It 7vas a common grain-jar; and it is a 
common grain-jar such as they buy in the ba- 
zar ; and a child might have lifted the cover one 
year ago, or on any day since that day. Ye are 



1893. 



rnK rorrKi) i-kincess. 



too wise, () I'rimcs and Subcdars, who rciv 
on holy nicn antl the heads of dead giants and 
devils' tails, but do not work with your own 
hands! Ve are too cunning! There was no 
magic, and now one man has taken it all away 
from you because he was not afraid, (io home, 
princes, or, if ye will, stay to see the weilding. 
But remember that a pot is a pot.'" 

There was a long silence at the entl of tlie tale. 

" But the charms were very strong," said 
Punch, doubtfully. 

" They were only words, and how could they 
touch the pot. Could words turn you into a 
tiger, Punch baba ? " 

" No. I am Punch." 

" Even so," said the ayah. "If the pot had 
been charmed, a charm would have opened it. 
But it was a common, bazar pot. What did it 



169 

know of (harms? It opened to a hand on the 
cover." 

"Oil!" said Punch; and then he began to 
laugh, anil Judy followed his example. " Now 
1 cjuite untlerstand. I will tell it to mama." 

When mama came back from her drive, the 
children told her the tale twice over, while she 
was ilressing for dinner; but as they began in 
the middle and put the beginning first, and then 
began at the end and jiut the middle last, she 
became a little confused. 

" Never mind," said Punch ; " I will show." 
And he reached up to the table for the big eau- 
de-cologne bottle that he was stricdy forbidden 
to touch, and pulled out the stopper and up.set 
half the scent down the front of his dress, 
shouting, " A pot is a pot, and I am the son 
of a potter!" 





/■•■' 



\ 











m:: 



^At^f^: 



-i^:,^. 




BOSTON IN 1757. FROM AN OLD TRINT. 



BOSTON. 




By Thomas Wentworth Higginson. 



SUCCORY, OR CHICORY. 



The summer traveler 
who approaches Boston 
from the land side is apt to 
notice a tall and abundant 
wayside plant, having a 
rather stiff and ungainly 
stem, surmounted by a 
flower with soft and deli- 
cate petals, and of a love- 
ly shade of blue. This 
is the succory [Cichorium 
Ijitybus of the botanists), described by Emerson 
as "succory to match the sky." But it is not 
commonly known in New England by this 
brief name, being oftener called " Boston weed," 
simply because it grows more and more abun- 
dant as one comes nearer to that city. When a 
genuine Bostonian (which the present writer is 
not, being only a suburban), returning to his 
home in late summer, sees this fair blossom on 
an ungainly stem assembled profusely by the 
roadside, he begins to collect his bags and 
bundles, knowing that he approaches his jour- 
ney's end. 

The original Boston, as founded by Governor 
John Winthrop in 1630, was established on a 
rocky three-hilled jjeninsula, in whose thickets 
wolves and bears were yet harbored, and which 
was known variously as Shawmut and Tri- 
mountain. The settlement itself was a sort of 
afterthought, being taken as a substitute for 



Charlestown, where a temporary abode had 
been founded by Winthrop's party. There had 
been much illness there, and so Mr. Blackstone, 
or Blaxtone, who had for seven years been set- 
tled on the peninsula, urged the transfer of the 
little colony. The whole tongue of land then 
comprised but 783 acres — an area a little less 
than that originally allotted to the New York 
Central Park. Boston now includes 23,661 
acres — about thirty times the original extent 
of the peninsula. 

It has a population of about 500,000 — the 
census of 1890 showing 448,477 inhabitants. 
By that census it was the sixth in population 
among American cities, being preceded by New 
York, Chicago, Philadelphia, Brooklyn, and St. 
Louis. In 1880 it ranked fifth, St. Louis hav- 
ing since outstripped it. In 1870 it was only 
seventh, both St. Louis and Baltimore then pre- 
ceding it. As with most American cities, this 
growth has been partly due to the annexing of 
suburbs; but during the last ten years, with a 
growth of 85,642, there has been no such annex- 
ation, showing the increase to be genuine and 
intrinsic. But the transformation in other ways 
has l)een more astonishing than the growth. Of 
the original three hills, one only is now notice- 
able by the stranger. I myself can remember 
Boston, in my college days, as a pear-shaped 
peninsula, two miles by one, hung to the main- 
land by a neck n mile long and only a few 



BOSTON. 



171 



yards wide, sometimes actually covered by the they came, were known by the natives as "Bos- 
meeting of the tide-waters from lH)th sides. The ton men." The wealth of the city, now vastly 
water almost touched Charles street, wliere greater than in those days, flows into other 
the Public Garden now is, and it rolled over channels — railways, factories, and vast land 
the flats where the costliest houses of the city investments in the f:ir West — enterprises as 
at present stand. useful, perhaps more lucrative, but less pictur- 
And the changes of population and occupa- escpie. It is a proof of the vigor and vitality 
tion have been almost as great as of surfiace. The of Boston, and jiartly also of its favorable situa- 





■^r-.- 1,' 



THE BOSTON STATE HOUSE. 



blue-jacketed sailor was then a figure as famil- 
iar in the streets as is now the Italian or the 
Chinese ; and the long wharves, lined with 
great vessels, two or three deep, and fragrant 
with spicy Oriental odors, are now shortened, 
reduced, and given over to tugs and coasters. 
Boston is still the second commercial port in 
the country ; but its commerce is mainly coast- 
wise or European only, and the picturesque 
fascination of the Chinese and India trade has 
passed away. Even on our northwest Pacific 
coast the early white traders, no matter whence 



tion, that it has held its own through such 
transformations. Smaller cities, once powerful, 
such as Salem, Newburyport, and Portsmouth, 
have been ruined as to business by the with- 
drawal of their foreign trade. 

Boston has certainly stood, from an early 
time, in the history of the country for a certain 
quality of combined thrift and ardor which has 
made it to some extent an individual city. Its 
very cows, during its rural period, shared this 
attribute, from the time when they laid out its 
streets by their devious wanderings, to the time 



172 



BOSTON. 



[Jan-. 



when " I.ady Hancock," as she was called, riod when, as described in Mrs. Quincy's remi- 
helped herself to milk from the cows of her fel- niscences, the gentlemen went to King's Chapel 
low-citizens to meet a sudden descent of official in scarlet cloaks, down to the modem period 




THE OLD STATE HOrSE. 



visitors upon her husband the governor. From of transcontinental railways and great manufac- 

the period when Boston was a busy little colo- turing enterprises, the city has at least aroused 

nial mart — the period best described in Haw- a peculiar loyalty on the part of its citizens, 

thome's '• Province House Legends" and " My Behind all the thunders of Wendell Phillips's 

Kinsman Major Molineux"— through the pe- eloquence there lay always the strong local 



i893 



pride. "1 Ktvc iiioxprcssibl)," he saiil, " these 
streets of Huston, over which my mother held 
up my baby lbotstei)s ; and if God grants me 
time enough, I will make them too pure to be 
trodden by the footsteps of a slave." He lived 
to see his dream fulfilled. Instead of the sur- 
rendered slave, Anthony Burns, marching in a 
hollow sipiare formed by the files of the militia, 
Phillips lived to see the fair-haired boy, Robert 
Shaw, riding at the head of his black regiment, 
to aid in securing the freedom of a race. 

During the Revolution, Boston was the cen- 
ter of those early struggles on which it is now 
needless to dwell. Faneuil Hall still stands — 
the place where, in 1774, a letter as to grievances 
was ordered to be sent to the other towns in 
the State; the old State House is standing, 
where the plans suggested by the Virginia 
House of Burgesses were adopted ; the old 
South Church remains, whence the disguised 
Indians of the Boston Tea-party went forth, 
and where Dr. Warren, on March 5, 1775, 
defied the British officers, and when one of 
them held up warningly some pistol-bullets, 
dropped his handkerchief over them and went 
on. The old North or Christ Church also 
remains, where the two lights were hung out 
as the signal for Paul Revere's famous ride, on 
the eve of the battle of Lexington. 

So prominent was Boston during this period 
that it even awakened the jealousy of the 
other colonies; and Mr. Thomas Shirley of 
Charleston, South CaroHna, said to Josiah 
Quincy, Jr., in March, 1773: "Boston aims 
at nothing less than the sovereignty of this 
whole continent. . . , Take away the power 
and superintendence of Britain, and the col- 
onies must submit to the next power. Boston 
would soon have that." 

One of the attractions of Boston has long 
been that in this city, as in Edinburgh, might 
be found a circle of literary men, better organ- 
ized and more concentrated than if lost in the 
confusion of a larger metropolis. From the 
point of view of New York, this circle might be 
held provincial, as might Edinburgh from Lon- 
don ; and the resident of the larger community 
might at best use about the Bostonian the saying 
attributed to Dr. Johnson about the Scotchman, 
that " much might be made of him if caught 



BOSTON. I 73 

young." Indeed, nuic h of New \'ork's best liter- 
ary material came always from New Englantl ; 
just as Scotland still holds its own in London 
literature. No doubt each place has its advan- 
tages, but there was a time when one might 




OLD SOITH CHURCH. 



easily meet in one Boston book-store in a day 
such men as Emerson, Parker, Longfellow, 



174 



BOSTON. 



[Jan. 



Lowell, Holmes, Whittier, Sumner, Agassiz, 
Parkman, Whipple, Hale, Aldrich, and How- 
ells ; with such women as Lydia Maria Child 
and Julia Ward Howe. Xow, if we consider 
how much of American literature is represented 
by these few names, it is evident that if Boston 
was never metropolitan, it at least had a com- 
bination of literary ability such as no larger 
American city has yet rivaled. 

I remember vividly an occasion when I was 
required to select a high-school assistant for the 
city where I then lived (Newport, Rhode Island), 
and I had appointed meetings with several can- 
didates at the book-store of Fields and Osgood 



and sister about this ! Up in Peacham we 
think a great deal of authors ! " Certainly a 
procession of foreign princes or American mil- 
lionaires would have impressed her and her 
correspondents far less. It was like the feeling 
that Americans are apt to have when they first 
visit London or Paris and see — in N. P. WilHs's 
phrase — " whole shelves of their library walking 
about in coats and gowns " ; and, strange as 
it may seem, every winter brings to Boston a 
multitude of young people whose avowed sen- 
sations are very much like those felt by the 
inhabitants of our Atlantic cities when they 
nsit London or Paris. 




THE OLD CORNER BOOK-STORE. 



at Boston. While I was talking with the most 
]jromising of the.se — the daughter of a clergy- 
man in northern Vermont — I saw Dr. O. W. 
Holmes pass through the shop, and pointed 
him out to her. She gazed eagerly after him 
until he was out of sight, and then said, draw- 
ing a long breath, " I must write to my father 



The very irregularity of the city adds to its 
attraction, since most of our newer cities are 
apt to look too regular and too monotonous. 
Foreign dialects have greatly increased within 
a few years; for although the German element 
has never been large, the Italian population is 
constantly increasing, and makes itself very 



1893] 



BOSTON. 



175 



apparent to the ear. Statues 
of eminent Bostonians — Win- 
throp, Franklin, Sam Adams, 
Webster, Garrison, Everett, 
Horace Mann, antl t)thers — 
are distributed about the city, 
and though not always beau- 
tiful as art, are suggestive of 
dignified memories. Institu- 



historic associations. The great 
Public Library still leads Ameri- 
can institutions of its class ; and 
the Art Museum had a similar 
leadership until the recent great 
expansion of the Metropolitan 
Museum of New York city, 
which the Boston museum still 
far surpasses in its collection of 
engravings. The Massachusetts 




TRINITY CHURCH. 



tions of importance are on all sides, and though Institute of Technology and the New England 

these are not different in kind from those now Conservatory of Music educate large numbers 

numerous in all vigorous i\merican cities, yet in of pupils from all parts of the Union ; while 

Boston they often claim a longer date or more Boston University and Boston College hold an 




THE PUBLIC GARDENS. 



1/6 



BOSTON. 



[Jan. 



honored place among their respective constit- 
uencies. Harvard University, Tufts College, 
and Welleslev College are not far distant. The 
Boston Athenaeum is an admirable model of a 




THE NEW rriSLIC LIBRARY AND THE NEW OLD SOUTH ClURCH. 



society library. The public-school system of and still retains it ; though it is claimed that 
Boston has in times past had great reputation, the newer systems of the Western States are 




j^-<^V';v 











THE AKI' MLISEUM. 



1893 



BOSTON. 



177 



in some degree surpassing it. The Normal Art is now manifested in such strong institutions as 



School of the State is in Boston; and the cii\ 
has its own Normal School for common-school 
teachers. The free lectures of the Lowell In 
stitute are a source of instruction to large num- 
bers every season ; 
and there are 
schools and classes 
in various direc- 
tions, maintained 
from the same 
foundation. The 
great collections 
of the Boston So- 
ciety of Natural 
History are open 
to the pubhc ; and 
the Bostonian So- 
ciety has been un- 
wearied in its ef- 
forts to preserve 
and exhibit all 
memorials of local 
liistory. The Mas- 
sachusetts Histori- 
cal Society in- 
cludes among its 
possessions the re- 
markable private 
library of Thomas 
Dowse, Avhich was 
regarded as one of 
the wonders of 
Cambridge fifty 
years ago, and it 
possesses also the 
invaluable manu- 
script collections 
brought together 
by Francis Park- 
man when prepar- 
ing his great series 

of histories. The New England Historic- Gen- 
ealogical Society has a varied store of mate- 
rials in the way of local and genealogical 
annals; and the Loyal Legion has a library 
and museum of war memorials. 

For many years there has been in Boston a 
strong interest in physical education — an inter- 
est which has passed through various phases, but 
Vol. XX.— 12. 



tlie Athletic Club and the Country Club — the 
latter for rural recreation. There is at Charies- 
bank, a town beside the Charies River, a public 
open-air gymnasium wliich attracts a large c(m- 




PARK STREET GATE, BOSTON COMMON. 

stituency ; and there is, what is especially desir- 
able, a class for women and children, with 
private grounds and buildings. It is under 
most efficient supervision, and is accomplishing 
great good. Nearly a thousand a day, for the 
five summer months of 189 1, used this women's 
gymnasium and its playground, without casu- 
alty or insubordination, under the charge of a 



I 78 



BOSTON. 



[Jan. 



trained teacher, Miss McMartin. There are also 
ten playgrounds kei)t open at unused school- 
houses during the summer vacations, these be- 
ing fitted up with swings, sand-pens, and some- 
times flower-beds, and properly superintended. 
A great system of parks has now been planned, 
and partly established, around Boston, the larg- 



characteristic forms which such activities have 
taken. There has been no desire to praise Bos- 
ton above its sisters among American cities ; for 
it is a characteristic of our society that, in spite 
of the outward uniformity attributed to the na- 
tion, each city has nevertheless its own charac- 
teristics; and each may often learn from the 



3 






1^ ^M^) • -^:.n ^ 






.( -^ 



r 



,.,«j^ii 




SCOLLAY SQUARE. 



est of these being Franklin Park, near Egles- 
ton S(iuare ; while the system includes also the 
Arnold Arboretum, the grounds around Chest- 
nut Hill Reservoir and Jamaica Pond, with a 
Marine Park at South Boston. Most of these 
are easily accessible by steam-cars or electric 
cars. 

This paper is not designed to be a catalogue 



others. This is simply one of a series of papers, 
each with a specific subject and each confined 
to its own theme. In view of the large number 
of foreign visitors to be expected, during the 
coming year, on this continent, it is desirable 
that all curious persons should be informed what 
kind of a place each city is, and what are its 
points of interest. The inns, the theaters, the 



of the public institutions and philanthropies of club-houses, they will discover for themselves ; 
Boston, but aims merely to suggest a few of the but there are further objects of interest not 



1893- 1 



liOSlUN. 



1/9 



)'■ , . :-^r- 




TREMONT STREET MALL, BOSTON COMMON. 



always so accessible. For want of a friendly 
guide, they may miss what would most interest 
them. It is now nearly two hundred years since 
an English traveler named Edward Ward thus 
described the Boston of 1699 : 

" On the southwest side of Massachusetts Bay 
is Boston, whose name is taken from a town in 
Lincolnshire and is the Metropolis of all New 
England. The houses in some parts joyn, 
as in London. The buildings, like their women, 
being neat and handsome. And their streets, 



like the hearts of the male inhabitants, being 
paved with pebble." 

The leadership of Boston, during these two 
centuries, in a thousand works of charity and 
kindness has completely refuted the hasty cen- 
sure of this roving Englishman ; and it is to be 
hoped that the Boston of the future, like the 
Boston of the past, will do its fair share in the 
development of that ampler American civihza- 
tion of which all present achievements suggest 
only the promise and the dawn. 




^M^^^.-^jM^'<^m^^^m 



THK SPIXxXING OX THE MALI. 



By Nora Pkkrv. 




'T WAS more than a hundred years ago, 

And Boston town was young, you know, 

In that far day, and what we call 

The '• Common " now, was then the " Mall " — 

A fine old-fashioned name, that meant 

A public green, where people went 

To roam at will or play a game 

With "mall," or mallet, much the same 

As now they play with bat and ball. 

'T was here, then, on the Boston Mall, 

More than a hundred years ago. 

There was the prettiest sight and show 

That any eyes had ever seen, 

Upon the lovely level green. 

For in the cool and leafy shade 

That elm and oak-tree branches made, 

A little flock of smiling girls, 

\\ ith dimpling cheeks and teeth of pearls. 



And modest cap and gown and frill, 
Sat spinning, spinning with a will. 
An hour or more with girlish grace 
The busy workers held their place, 
And eager crowds came up to gaze, 
With some to wonder, some to praise. 
While newer comers bent to say, — 
As you perhaps may say to-day 
Who read this page, — " Oh, tell us why 
And wherefore now these spinners ply 
Their busy wheels in sight of all, 
I'pon the open ])ublic Mall ? 
A curious show, a pretty scene, 
But tell us what the show doth mean ? " 

It means, it means, that long ago, 
When Boston town was young, you know, 
Its councilors and rulers sought 
From day to day, with prayerful thought, 



THE SPINNING ON THE MALL. 



l8l 



To serve the interests of the town 
They held beneath the Britisli crown. 
And so one day, amidst their wise 
And well-hxid schemes of enterprise, 
A scheme arose to bring tlie art 
The Irish weavers knew b)- heart 
Into the town of Boston bay. 
And ere the scheme could cool, straightway 
A message went across the sea 
To Erin's shore, and presently 
In Boston harbor came to land 
A little group, a little band, 
Who jovially settled down 
Within the precincts of the town, 
To teach the folk of Boston bay 
To spin and weave their famous way. 
But fancy the amazement there. 
The curious question, and the stare. 
When, flocking to the spinning-class, 
Came many a high-placed little lass. 
" 'T was not for these the scheme was laid 



And carried out; the plan was made 
For ])Oorer folk," the rulers cried. 
'I'he smiling gentry-folk replied 
With never a word of yea or nay. 
But, .still persistent, held their way ! 

And thus it fell that high and low. 
And rich and poor, flocked to and fro 
.Across the town to learn the art 
i'he Irish weavers knew by heart. 
And such the skill was soon di.splayed, 
That by and by each litde maid. 
Or rich or poor, or high or low. 
Was homespun-dressed from top to toe. 
And then and there it came to pass 
The spinning-school, the spinning-class, 
Became the fashion of the hour. 
And raged with such despotic power 
That then and there the folk decreed, 
And all the councilors agreed. 
That on the people's public green 
These spinners spinning should be seen. 



HARD TO BEAR. 



By Tudor Jenks. 



" I 'm very drowsy," said the Bear; 
" I think it 's anything but fair 

That just about the Christmas season, 

W'ithout a sign of rhyme or reason, 

I get so tired I have to creep 

Into a cave and fall asleep. 

I take a nap, and — to my surprise — 
I find, when I wake and rub my eyes, 
That winter 's gone, and I 've slept away 
Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's day, 

I believe that I 'm not given to croaking. 
But you '11 admit that it 's provoking ! " 




THE "OLD-BLUE" VASE. 

{A Navy Boy in Japan.) 



By Anna A. Rogers. 




's< 



-^^ ■ » LEG BARLOW 

began to travel when 
he was about three 
months old. His father was then ordered from 
the Portsmouth Navy Yard to special duty at 
the Department in Washington ; and that entry 
of 465 miles headed the rather long list in his 
little red note-book, that he kept in his inside 
reefer pocket, and showed to people who treated 
him and his hobby with respect. 

He found " grown-ups," as he called them, 
on the average very frivolous, much more so 
than children. It did seem to him sometimes as 
if the older they got the sillier they got. Now, 
there was the admiral on the European station, — 
where Alec went when he was about two years 
old, — there was n't a naval cadet in the squadron 
who laughed half as much as he did; nor bowed 
and scraped more to the ladies ; nor talked more 
nonsense, as it seemed to Alec. Then he had 
such an intensely disagreeable way of greeting 
Alec with: "'How big was Alexander, Pa?'" 
every blessed time he ran across him, when Alec 
was spending the day on the " Hartford," after 
he got to be almost five years old, toward the 
end of the cruise. Alec got so tired of it, but 
he knew what the ship's discipline required, and 
"stood attention" respectfully, as "His Royal 
Nibs" — Alec liked to hear him called that be- 
hind his back — walked by in his Nancyfied way. 



The old coxswain of the cutter surprised 
Alec once by saying to a new hand : 

" You think you know it all, don't you, 
sonny ? Well, all the same I 'd rather have 
the 'Old Man' on the bridge in a gale than 
any officer in the navy. He 's a dandy from 
Dandysville." 

Alec could not understand it, and never had 
had a chance to ask what he meant. 

The proudest moment of his boyhood was 
when he had occasion to write 8894 miles in 
his note-book, on his way to Japan with his 
mother, when he was eight years old. His 
father was " first luff" on the " Monocacy," 
then in China. The captain of the Pacific 
Mail steamer gave him the figures. That was 
counting from New York to Yokohama, and 
reducing knots to land miles ; and it brought 
his grand total up to 21,319 miles. He knew 
only one navy boy, " Ratty " Taft, who was 
ahead of him. Ratty had been to Monte- 
video and back before he was four years old; 
and after that the Sandwich Islands, and dear 
knows how many other places. Alec had not 
had as much luck as that, but he was a good 
second to Ratty. 

After the first three mornings, Alec enjoyed 
tlie eighteen days on the Pacific Ocean very 
much, until they crossed the i8oth meridian. 
Not being old enough to pretend he understood 
why a day was deliberately droi)ped, he had a 
hard time of it. It was another one of his 
struggles with the curious frivolity of grown-up 
people. He had climbed up into his bunk on 
Friday night, and when he awoke next morn- 
ing, his mother insisted it was Sunday and that 
he must put on his best reefer with the navy 
buttons, and his blue-and-green plaid tie. How 
Alec laughed at his dear, funny little mother ! 
But she was so serious about it that, when he 



THE "OLD-Bl.UE VASE. 



l8 



rang the bell for her black coftee, he took occa- 
sion to ask Ling, the Chinese steward, what 
day it was. Ling answered : "Jess now b'long 
'melican joss-day." So that settled it. 

"What does it mean, Mama?" he asked, 
quite in earnest as usual. 

" Good gracious, .Mec ! how should 1 know ? " 
she said, laughing, as she sipped her coftee 
comfortably in the lower berth. 

Between breakfast and church he had asked 
the second officer, the purser, the doctor, an 
English " globe-trotter," and a missionary going 
to Siam, to explain this mystery to him. Each 
one had tried to laugh it off", but when he per- 
sisted, each one said : " Well, you run and get 
an orange, and I '11 see if I can make you see 
it." Each time he understood less and less 
about it, and the missionary left him in a 
hopeless fog. 

Finally, after " tiffin," or luncheon, he knocked 
at the captain's cabin, and a voice within called 
out gruffly : " Who 's there ? " 

"Alec Barlow, sir." 

" Run away, run away ! I 'm having a nap." 

" Captain, excuse me, but it 's business," said 
Alec, quaking, but determined to get at this 
day-shedding affair at all hazards, especially as 
Pacific captains are not so fierce as Atlantic 
captains. He heard a short laugh, and was 
told to come in. He entered, whipped off his 
" watch-cap" as quickly as any one could take 
off anything so limp and wobbly, and stood 
respectfully in front of the captain, who lay 
stretched on the transom. 

"Well, Don Quixote?" demanded the cap- 
tain, who called Alec all sorts of queer names. 

" Now, you know yourself, captain, that if a 
fellow understands a thing he can make another 
fellow see it fast enough." The captain yawned, 
blinked the tears out of his eyes, and said : 

" What 's that ? What 's that ? " 

" They all talk, and talk, and talk. I won't 
name any names, of course, but there 's a big 
pack of sillies on this ship, sir — " 

" About the average, Alec," said the captain. 

" And not one of 'em can 'splain this reg'lar 
leap-frog right straight over Saturday ! " 

" So that 's it, Mr. Coroner ? Well, you run 
and get an — " 

" I 've got the orange right here. I s'posed 



you 'd want it," said Alec, pulling one out of 
his i)Ocket. 

They struggled with the question once more, 
and Alec began to wish he had not said that 
about the "sillies." The captain finally glanced 
at the boy's bewildered face, and said shortly : 

" Subtract eight from fifty-six." There was a 
pause, and the boy glared excitedly at the map 
on the wall, and played five-finger exercises 
against his legs. 

" Forty-eight, sir," he answered, his brow 
clearing as the captain replied : 

" Right you are! Well, I 'm just that many 
years older than you, and I advi.se you to put 
ofif this iSoth meridian business for some years 
to come. There are a few- things that even a 
lad of eight whole years — " 

" And four months," suggested Alec, meekly. 

" Cannot understand, and you need not call 
me a 'silly,' either, do you hear?" 

" You need n't ever be 'fraid of that, sir, 
'cause yo7c 'r<? ser'ous, and that 's what fetches 
me every time," said Alec. 

" Thank you, thank you. Admiral Noah ; 
how 's the old ark, anyhow ? " said the laugh- 
ing captain, as Alec slid out. He tossed the 
orange overboard, and stood by the rail watch- 
ing it bob, and dance, and nod good-by to 
him as it floated away. It was such a bright, 
brave little thing to go out alone on the ocean 
that Alec felt sorry he had thrown it away. 
He ran down the ship toward the stern, and 
watched it until it was gone forever out of 
sight. There was something about this that 
made him feel lonely, and he went and leaned 
against his mother, who was tramping up and 
down the deck with the missionary. She was 
laughing at something he had been saying, but 
she took time to look down at Alec and whisper: 

" Don't you feel well, dear ? " Somehow, 
whenever he felt lonesome people always asked 
him that. 

To make a long story short, they arrived in 
Yokohama without incident of any kind, after 
a whaleless, porpoiseless, gulless, sailless voyage, 
so very different from the Atlantic crossing, as 
Alec and the " globe-trotter " said many times 
during the three weeks on the lonely Pacific. 

Alec had never felt so foolish in all his life as 
when he and his mother landed at Yokohama, 



1 84 



THE "OLD-BLUE VASE. 



[Jan. 



and got into one of those baby-carriages, drawn 
by one little man with lots of muscle in his legs. 
He was glad Ratty and the other fellows were 
not looking on. They went straight to the Amer- 
ican Consulate to get the letters. They always 
did that. 

Then they went to the hotel, and Mrs. Bar- 
low read the pile of letters she had received, 
and looked very serious, for her. Alec stood 
by the front window, watching the funny little 
Japanese children wading out to gather seaweed 
at Ihe other side of the Bund wall. They looked 
just Hke pictures on fans. 

Mrs. Barlow said after a while : 

" Alec, the Monocacy is at Shanghai, and 
papa says we must not go on to China just now. 
We must take a little house here, and try and 
be happy till he comes." Alec went to her. 

'' How 's his pain?" he asked, watching her 
face, for he had his suspicions. 

" It has come back," she said ; adding quickly, 
"but not very bad, — he speaks of it only once 
or twice. That 's nice, is n't it, Alec?" She 
drew him to her and put her head on his 
shoulder. 

" That 's fine ! " he said, and then he felt that 
the sooner they talked about something else, 
the better. He often had a curious feeling that 
he was much older than his happy little mother, 
who was a mere girl in years, and had the 
nature that sings, and laughs, and chatters all 
day long. He had his father's serious, dark 
eyes, but otherwise was very much like her, 
only he had not outgrown his freckles, and his 
second teeth had not quite settled down to 
spend their lives with him. 

They rented a wee Httle bungalow of four 
rooms, — not counting the servants' quarters, — 
all furnished, down in the Settlement not far 
from the Athletic (irounds, where Alec often 
watched the cricket-matches, and did not think 
much of the game, compared with base-ball. 
He went to school on the Bluff, sometimes tug- 
ging up The Hundred Steps, which was too 
much for a fat boy, especially as there was no 
railing ; but generally up the Long Hill, as it 
brought him out nearer the school. He had 
the sailor's-cap ribbon of the U. S. S. Mono- 
cacy sewed on his caps, and many were his 
tussles and adventures with boys of all nation- 

* " Push-man," a 



alities in that school. Once Paymaster Dawson, 
of the U. S. Naval Hospital, had to interfere 
in Alec's behalf when he was threatened with 
dismissal for " inveterate belligerency " — Alec 
looked it up in the dictionary. After that his 
affairs ran more smoothly. 

Mrs. Barlow was as happy as the days were 
long; she could not help it. She was dehghted 
with everything; the people were so kind and 
hospitable; she had two such treasures for ser- 
vants, and the whole thing was " such fun," and 
did not cost her what it did to board in two 
rooms at home. She flew at Alec once in a 
while, and danced the polka all over their tiny 
house ; she always said that nobody ever danced 
the polka as well as her boy. 

Mrs. Barlow's greatest delight was buying 
" curios." She got a great deal of trash, as 
she was told, as soon as the ladies who always 
lived in Yokohama began to feel really friendly 
toward her. Her pet bargain was a large blue- 
and-white vase. She had paid so much for it 
that no one dared to tell her how outrageously 
she had been cheated. She called it "old-blue," 
or Hirado ware ; but it was n't in the least, you 
know, being just that cheap imitation made by 
wholesale down in Seto. 

One day, toward the end of January, Alec 
was in school trying to remember, long enough 
to recite it, how to bound the German empire, 
when he was told a gentleman wanted to see 
him. The German empire was dashed flat on 
its face, and he flew to the door, where he found 
Mr. Dawson in his jinrikisha, and after one 
glance he knew there was something. 

"Get on your things, Alec; we '11 ride double 
down home. I 've an atos/ii* you see, and so 
it won't be too much of a load. Besides, I want 
to talk to you." 

" What 's the matter, Mr. Dawson ? " asked 
the boy, as soon as they were off. 

"It 's just this, Barlow," — Alec wondered if 
Mr. Dawson had any idea how much he liked 
to be called by his last name ; he could almost 
feel his mustache grow, — " I 've got a proposi- 
tion. What do you say to my coming and 
staying at your quarters a while, and our keep- 
ing bachelor's hall together ? " 

" Excuse me, paymaster, but I don't think 
that 's what you came to tell me," said Alec, 
coolie who pushes. 



THE "oi.i>-iu.i'e" vase. 



185 



with a frown; grown pcoidc- always took liiin Captain Vcntcux will lake charge of her, and it 

for such an idiot I is best for all that you stay." 

Mr. Dawson glanceil at him, and then said: There was a short silence, as the coolies 

"Alec, your mother got a telegram from hacked hard against the heavy load as they 

Shanghai an hour ago, from the surgeon of the went down the steej) hill, the atoshi running to 

Monocacv. who says your father is — well, the front and pulling hack the shafts. Finally 

he 's not well; and so she is going by the Alec said reproachfully: "If you had talked 




ALEC AND HIS MOTHER AT THE LANDING IN YOKOHAMA. 



French Mail at three o'clock this afternoon, to 
take care of him." 

" I can be ready in ten minutes," said Alec. 

" That 's the rub, old fellow ; you are not 
to go." 

" Well, I 'd like to know the reason why ! " 
cried the boy in his fighting tone. 

" You need n't grit the ends off your teeth at 
me. Mister Sullivan- Fisticuffs I Your poor little 
mother will have her hands full without you. 



sense to me at first — but I hate this babying 
business." Mr. Dawson knew him well enough 
to feel sure there would be no further argument, 
and it was a load off his mind. 

A few minutes later, as they flew along the 
canal, Mr. Dawson felt a small hand laid upon 
his arm, and Alec coughed a little and said : 

" Paymaster, I think it would be very jolly to 
have you come and keep bachelor's hall with 
me ; excuse me for not saying so right off." 



i86 



THE "OLD-BLUE VASE. 



[Jan. 



Mr. Dawson smiled and shook the freckled 
little hand warmly. 

When they reached the house, Alec found it 
was full of ladies all chattering at once, as they 
packed his mother's trunk and bags, trying to 
cheer up Mrs. Barlow, who sat twisting her 
handkerchief nervously, and catching in her 
breath every few seconds, like the child that 
she really was. He went to her, and she clung 
to him and cried again for a moment. 

" Now, you brace up. Mama, and have some 
pluck about you. You said only yesterday you 'd 
give all your curious " — he never got that word 
exactly right — "to see papa for five minutes, 
don't you remember ? " 

"Yes; but you. Alec?" 

"Well, you see, I don't care much about 
China, anyhow," he replied huskily. 

" They all seem to think it 's better, dear," the 
httle mother said. Alec had just time to say, 
" Of course it is," when the lumps in his throat 
got so enormous and hard to swallow that he 
ran out of the room and into the hall closet, 
shut the door, buried his head in his heavy ulster 
that hung on a peg, and had his cry out alone. 

After a while he went into the dining-room, 
with a very dignified step but an extremely 
storm-beaten face. Mr. Dawson glanced up 
from the floor, where he was struggling to get 
Mrs. Barlow's many steamer-wraps into a small 
ladyUke strap, and after noticing the shrinkage 
as to Alec's eyes and the expansion as to his 
no.se, he concluded not to say anything, but 
went on whistling the only tune he knew : " Bob 
up serenely." 

Alec got the materials together and wrote a 
note to his mother with much ink, wide-spread 
elbows, and his head at a painful angle. It 
ended with these words : 

And you jest say to yourself, what 's the matter with 
Alexander Barlow? O, hese all right, and take good 
cair of your ancul, and if the decks are slipry don't you 
walk alone — tell papa to gel up steam for Yokohama 
soon. lie take care of the Old Blue Vace dont you wurry. 
your loveing son Alec. 

He took the letter to Yuki, the Japanese 
maid, and told her to slip it into his mother's 
handbag, near the cologne-bottle and the lemon 
already cut in halves. 

After Mrs. Harlow sailed for China, Alec and 



the paymaster got on finely together. One 
Saturday afternoon, they gave a very successful 
tifiin of ten covers. They carefully arranged it 
all beforehand. Each one of the hosts wrote 
out his response to a toast and submitted it to 
the other's criticism, before learning it by heart. 
Mr. Dawson declared he could make no sug- 
gestions, when Alec read his speech to him. 

" I think yours is too solemn, paymaster; the 
ladies won't like it," was Alec's opinion, when 
he heard Mr. Dawson's speech. 

" Barlow, when you get to be my age, you '11 
know that a woman likes crying next to dia- 
monds," said the paymaster, sagely. 

" Seems to me everybody in the world, 'cept- 
ing papa and me, are hunting round all the time 
for a chance to laugh at something," said the 
younger of the two philosophers. 

Alec sat at the foot of the table, opposite Mr. 
Dawson, and divided his conversation evenly 
between the ladies on either hand, as Mr. Daw- 
son told him that was " the racket." Toward 
the end of the luncheon, Mr. Dawson winked 
at Alec, who thereupon proposed the toast, 
" Home," and called on " Passed Assistant Pay- 
master Frederick Q. Dawson" to respond, which 
he did in such a way that Mrs. Peters, who had 
not seen the United States for ten years, gave a 
little sob, and Mr. Peters said hurriedly : 

" Choke it off, Pay ; this is n't a wake," and 
so spoiled the end of his speech. 

Then, after the proper formalities. Alec rose, 
put one hand behind him as he had seen his 
father do more than once at the head of the 
ward-room table, holding his glass of well- 
watered claret in the other hand, and with a 
face much redder than the wine, said : 

" This toast is drank on all men-o'-war in 
our navy on Saturdays after dinner; and all 
the orficers what are papas, and — spoons, and 
things, think of his pa'tic'lar one while they do 
it. Here 's to sweethearts and wives ! " 

It made a decided hit, and one and all in- 
si.sted on clinking glasses with him on the spot; 
but Mrs. Robb, who lacked tact, exclaimed en- 
thusiastically : " You little darling ! " and Alec 
never forgave her, and it spoiled the occasion 
so far as he was concerned. In talking it over 
later, he agreed with the paymaster : " The 
way of the toaster is hard." 



1893] 



THE "old-blue" vase. 



187 



At the end of a fortnight, Alec heard from 
his mother. His father had been carried ashore 
to the hotel, and she was nursing him there. 
He was decidedly better. The letter ended 
with: "Tell Mr. Dawson that he is the best 
man in the whole world, next to your papa." 
When Alec read the message to the paymaster, 
he said, " O pshaw ! these women," and talked 
about something else. Alec did not think it 
very polite, but he did not like to say anything. 

One afternoon, toward the end of February, 
Alec sat in the big arm-chair in the parlor, idly 
smnging his legs, waiting impatiently for Mr. 
Dawson to come home to dinner. He was 
late very often just then, because he had gone 
in for the bowling-match at the Y. U. Club, 
and stood a good chance for second prize, 
greatly to Alec's pride and delight. 

Alec started nervously when the wind pried 
with an impudent clatter at the shutters. He 
was glad when Sono, Mr. Dawson's Japanese 
"boy," came into the next room and fussed 
about the dinner-table. He felt a sinking sen- 
sation that he was deadly ashamed of, when 
Sono went out again, and he was left alone 
with only the puffs of wind to break the silence. 
Suddenly there was a roar like the quick pass- 
ing of a heavy lumbering wagon, and then it 
seemed to Alec as if a giant took the little 
bungalow up and shook it as a dog does a rat ; 
then bumped it up and down ; and finally swung 
it slowly to and fro, before he dropped it and 
walked oft". Alec jumped to his feet at the first 
shock, but was thrown flat on his face, and lay 
there listening in terror to the loud creakings 
of the swaying house, which sounded like a 
ship in a driving storm. When the swinging 
stopped, he felt seasick and faint as he stag- 
gered to his feet and tottered to the front door. 
He tried to open it, but it was jammed. As 
he stood there dazed, Yuki and Sono rushed 
through the back door, that had been left ajar, 
seized him by the arm, crying sharply, ^'■Aya! 
Aya ! Jishin ! Hayakii .' " * and dragged him 
out of the house into the garden. 

"Yuki, what 's the matter? I don't under- 
stand," gasped Alec. 

" Oki earthquake, danna sati ! " t she answered. 
With a sudden cry, Alec tore himself from their 
* " Look out ! Look out ! Earthquake I Hurry ! " t ' 



grasp and dashed back into the parlor. He 
pushed a chair to the mantel, mounted upon it, 
and reached up for the blue vase, which was 
fastened by a fine wire to a tack in the wall, as 
is the custom in earthquake-rocked Japan. Just 
as he jerked out the tack, and was jumping 
down with the vase in his arms, there came 
one final terrific bump from beneath the house, 
and everything turned l)lack, and he knew no 
more. 

When he came to his senses, he heard Mr. 
Dawson's voice near his head, saying : 

" Stop your snifiling, Yuki. If you or Sono 
had been worth your rice, this never would 
have happened." 

Yuki's voice whined softly: 

" Oyunishi nasare, Katijo-kata ! \ we have try." 

The paymaster growled back : 

" Why did n't you sit on him, if you could not 
hold him any other way ? " Then Alec heard 
near his feet a voice that sounded like the 
young surgeon's at the Naval Hospital, saying: 

" And that vase is no more ' old-blue ' than I 
am — not half as much as he is — poor little 
lad." A terrible pain seized upon Alec, the 
voices faded away, and he had fainted again. 

The second earthquake shock had been one 
of the bumping sort that does the most damage, 
and the chimney had fallen in through the roof. 

They had taken Alec out from under the 
bricks and dust, finding fragments of the blue- 
and-white vase in his bleeding hands. That 
told the whole story, better even than if the 
little white lips could have moved and spoken. 

Mr. Dawson gently raised the small, crushed 
body in his arms, and vented his helpless grief 
on the frightened servants, while he waited for 
the doctor. Sono disappeared from the " com- 
pound," and although half a month's wages was 
to his credit, he was never seen again. When 
Dr. Hicks came flying down from the Bluff" in 
a 'ricksha propelled by four coolies, he laid the 
unconscious Alec upon a mattress, and they car- 
ried him up Camp Hill to the United States 
Naval Hospital. Yuki walked a fe\v steps in 
front, carrying a large paper lantern, cr}nng 
softly and wiping her eyes on her long sleeves. 

The hospital had stood some eight hundred 

earthquakes in its time, and beyond several 

Big earthquake, Master ! " t " Forgive me, Paymaster ! " 



1 88 



THK "OLD-BLU1-: VASE. 



Uan. 



square yards of tiling off the roof, it was not Mr. Dawson found that the boy's feverish 

damaged. eyes were glaring at the bottle-laden table, with 

They put Alec in the second-story front room, labels of all sizes, and corks at all angles, some 

where one gets a view of the sacred mountain with paper stuffed in to make them air-tight. 

of Japan, Fujiyama, the "mountain of wistaria." He gave the delirious boy a sleeping-draught, 
Alec had a hard time of it for many long and the next morning the riotous colony living 

weeks, what with his sufferings, his fever, and his on the table had been suppressed. 

The senior surgeon's 
young wife brought in 
a bunch of her earliest 
pansies to brighten the 
sick-room, and Yuki put 
them in a low, broad 
dish on the bureau, 
and as soon as poor 
Alec saw them, off 
started his busy de- 
lirium once more : 

" Forward and back ! 
ladies change ! sashay 
across! back to places ! " 
he called out in a loud 
singsong way to the 
pansies nodding their 
heads in the breeze by 
the open window. It 
was a " hop " on board 
ship, and the officers 
and ladies were dancing 
back and forth, bowing 
and courtesying all the 
time. " All hands 

round ! Mama, mama ! 
you 're going the wrong 
way," he cried in his 
thick, rough voice to 
the litde fat pansy all 
in cool lilac with a gold 
locket on her breast, 
who gazed with wonder 
and held her chin up in 
tlie air. Then he burst 
out laughing, for there 
was tall Ensign Tycer 
stooping over and whis- 

fancies. In Alec's bewildered thoughts, the big pering low to the captain's youngest daughter, 

fat botUes on the table by the bed were always whose dark head drooped shyly on one side ! 

bullying the little thin botdes, and it was " no " Ha, ha ! I saw you two sillies whispering 

fair," and he could not move to stop it, and on the gun-deck; so did the master-at-arms. 

nobody seemed to care. Reg'lar muff, you are ! " 




"'o'nKILI,,' said Al.KC, ' DO VOU KNOW HOW MICH I WAS HLKT UN THAI 



il.lJ KAM Hijl AKK 



1893. 1 



TIIK "Ol.li-IUA'K VASE. 



189 



On and on went the iiDakin^ voice and 
laughter, and the doctors were at their wits' 
ends. After that it seemed to him that he slept 
for years, and when he awoke the first thing 
he noticed was that the wall-pai)er was simply 
a pattern of two blue i)inks and one green rose, 
over and over again, as comfortable and orderly 
as possible. The brownies and grasshoppers 
were gone, and everything all about the room 
kept still. Then he saw the Japanese amah, 
stjuatting on the floor by the window, sewing. 
\\'hat was her name? It meant "snow" in 
Japanese. Paymaster Dawson, whom he knew 
long ago, once told him so. He called, as he 
supposed, very loudly : " Snow ! Snow ! " Funny 
enough, she did not hear him, and went on sew- 
ing. Maybe she had grown old, as he had, and 
was deaf. So he tried again : " Snow ! You 
Snow ! " This time she caught the feeble whis- 
per, and, glancing up quickly, pattered to the 
bed, and looked closely at him, and then ran 
out of the room in her queer, mincing way, 
saying in the English she was so proud of: 
" Come back, queek." 

When she returned Dr. Hicks and Mr. Daw- 
son were with her; and the latter stood at the 
foot of the cot twirling his mu.stache, as Alec 
remembered he used to do when he was excited 
over the bowling-match. Alec noticed how 
strongly he smelled of tobacco, and he liked it, 
and his pinched little face broke into a flutter- 
ing smile, and the paymaster went over by the 
window, and tried to hum " When the sky 
above is clearing"; but he ended abruptly by 
saying something about " needing quinine." 
The doctor looked over his shoulder at the 
paymaster's broad back, and smiled. 

When Alec got somewhat stronger, Mr. Daw- 
son read to him a number of letters that had 
come from his mother, and he thought it so 
strange that she did not mention his illness, but 
seemed to think he was at school; but Mr. Daw- 
son explained that by such a long rigmarole that 
Alec dropped off to sleep in the middle of it, 
and he was ashamed to ask him to repeat it. 
He dictated his answers to the same reliable 
person, who took so long to write a page that 
Alec concluded the paymaster was as weak in 
speUing as he was himself. 

It was warm, sweet-smelling, sweet-looking. 



sweet-sounding spring when ,\lec was placed 
on the long Chine.se steamer-chair, and carried 
out by four sick-listed sailors into the hos- 
Ijital gartlen. 'I'hey put the chair down by the 
camellia-bush with the red-and-white-striped 
blossoms, that made him think of big pejjper- 
mint balls. Everything he saw reminded him 
of .something to eat, just because they were all 
so awfully stingy about food at the hospital 
(the sick sailors agreed with Alec about that.) 

Hut that morning the world was .so oi)pres- 
sively beautiful that tears of joy ran down the 
boy's cheeks, and Yuki had to wipe tliem 
away — right before all the sailors, too! It 
was very trying. A tiny brown bird came and 
perched on the foot of the chair, and sang five 
notes, and Alec wanted to cry some more, but 
he just would n't. 

"The colors are too bright, and things have 
too much smell to them — it hurts. Funny I 
never noticed it before," he said to Doctor 
Hicks, who smiled in the quiet way " that 
makes a fellow think he 's heard everything 
long ago," as Alec said to the paymaster. 

The little invalid was left alone, only Yuki 
being by, when Mrs. Peters's phaeton spun 
around the comer by the foreign cemetery, — 
so convenient to most of the hospitals, — and 
catching sight of Alec, she sawed frantically 
at her Chinese pony's hard mouth, and finally 
succeeded in stopping him. Then she and Alec 
chatted over the hospital fence; and probably 
in all her long and very unexciting life, no one 
ever found Mrs. Peters so radiantly lovely as 
she appeared to Alec's fresh fancy that spring 
morning. 

"And, Alec, how about the food (juestion ? 
Is there anything you particularly fancy ? " 
asked Mrs. Peters. 

"I 'm hungry all the time — they 're rather 
mean about it. I s'pose the 'propriation 's got 
low," said Alec, who had heard a great deal of 
" navy talk " in his life. 

Of course Mrs. Peters ought to have known 
better, but it got all over town that the United 
States Hospital fare was not what might be 
expected, considering the taxes; and the next 
day began that perfect shower of soups, jellies, 
blanc-manges, and fruit in which every woman 
in Yokohama had at least a finger, from the 



190 



THE "OLD-BLUE VASE. 



[Jan. 



American and English leaders of society dow n 
to the gentle Sisters from the French hospital. 

At first Alec succeeded in smuggling much 
of his too abundant store to the convalescent 
sailors, but frequent relai)ses in their health 
finally exposed that court-martial offense, and 
the hospital apothecary carried a brief message 
to the small criminal from the senior surgeon. 

Then began the waxing stout of Doctor 
Hicks and the paymaster, who messed together 
in the former's quarters, at the other end of the 
hospital building. 

'' Hicks and I never got on to anything like it 
in both our wasted lives ! Come, own up ; how 
did you work it with the ladies, old fellow ? " the 
paymaster demanded of the delighted boy, who 
thereupon laughed so that he could not answer. 

" All right, keep your old secret ! I 'm good 
for twice the jelly you are, anyhow ; and as for 
Hicks — I think I 'm justified in stating that 
that man is little short of phenomenal, when it 
comes to blanc-mange. We have n't cared, so 
far, how it 's done, but we 're getting proud 
and haughty on this kingly diet." 

Alec's shrill little laugh could be heard away 
up in the sailors' ward, and one of them would 
say: " I guess the paymaster's with him now," 
and the others would grunt contentedly, and 
listen again for the sound that carried each 
rough old heart far away across the sea. 

Alec's favorite sailor was the " Jack-o'-the- 
Dust " of the " Monocacy," who had been 
very ill, and was still feeble and white as he 
wandered restlessly about the verandas and 
grounds. He often joined Alec by special in- 
vitation, fetching a chair and smoking his pipe 
" to le'ward," while Yuki knelt on the close-cut 
grass beside her little master's long chair, hold- 
ing over him a huge yellow Japanese umbrella; 
for the sun was already getting too hot for com- 
fort, and yet it was too damp under the trees. 

" O'Neill," said Alec one day to the Jack-o'- 
the-Dust, "do you know how much I was hurt 
by that old earth<|uake ? " 

'' A rib or so, the lift ankle, and cuts galore. 
Purty wuU smashed," he answered. 

" I say, won't I have a jolly lot of scars I 
More than any feller I know." 

" Fur the matther o' that, yer wull that, Mas- 
ther Alec," repHed O'Neill. 



" Even you have n't that many, O'Neill ?" 

" Shure, no ; nur a wish fur the same." 

" What are you here for, anyway ? " asked 
Alec, after a pause, 

" Me stummick 's gone on liberty, and hez 
overshtayed its toime, loike a trashy marine!" 
growled O'Neill. " Sometoimes I 've a failin' 
it 'ull niver report on board the ould ship ag'in." 
Alec began to laugh, but there was something 
new and sad in the gruff voice, and after saying 
gently, "I think your pipe 's out, O'Neill; load 
her up again," there was a long silence, broken 
finally by the street-cry that waked Alec every 
morning. 

" Yuki! What 's that?" Alec cried. She had 
gone to sleep, with her head against the chair, 
the umbrella resting upon the back. She awoke, 
smiled her " Bixby's Best smoile," as O'Neill 
called it and told him what the strange cry 
meant — it was merely a tea-seller's call. 

The paymaster had been very busy for a 
week getting the bungalow shipshape, and the 
morning came when he and Alec were going 
to move down there after tifiin. The latter was 
taking leave of the hospital that had been his 
home for so many months. He leaned heavily 
upon Mr. Dawson and Yuki as they half car- 
ried him up the tree -covered mound back of 
the main building, where one gets a glimpse 
of the bay down by the Bund. It was the 
favorite spot with the white-faced sailors, who 
stood sometimes for hours, alone or in pairs, 
looking longingly out toward the sea, which 
meant health and home to them all. 

"O'Neill is generally here; I wonder where 
he is?" asked Alec; and nobody answered him. 

Two hours later all the convalescent sailors 
gathered about to say good-by to the lieuten- 
ant's boy, as he sat on the lower veranda, in 
front of Doctor Hicks's (}uarters. 

"I wonder where O'Neill is!" Alec said 
again, and again there was no answer. Then 
a marine said softly, " He 's asleep." 

" Don't wake him, but tell him I left gooil-by 
for him." 

" Aye, aye," said a dozen voices. No one 
would ever wake O'Neill again, but they did 
not tell Alec just then. 

Two of the sailors " made a basket " with 
their horny hands, and carried Alec to the gate 



THE " Ul.D-Bl.Ul-: VASK, 



191 



ami placed him in a double jiniikisha, into 
which Mr. Dawson also got. Yuki followed 
in another, with the " honorable little master's " 
clothes in a trunk at her feet. They went 
slowly down Camp Hill, and then along the 
canal. It was so exciting that Alec closed liis 
eyes until the coolies stopped in front of the 
bungalow gate, and lowered the shafts care- 
fully. Then he saw a i)lump little woman, with 
anxious eyes that showed recent tears, standing 
in the doorway. 

" Mama ! Mama ! " screamed Alec; and such 
a scene followed ! Any one watching the pay- 
master just then would have prescribed quinine 
on the spot, without a moment's hesitation. A 
deep voice from the doorway called out, " I say, 
Polly, that 's my boy as well as yours ! " and 
there stood Lieutenant Barlow, Alec's i)apa, 
with the sunburn all gone from his face, as if 
he hatl been on shore duty for three years. 

After they carried Alec into the tiny parlor, 
Mrs. Barlow shook her finger at Mr. Dawson, 



and was evidently reproving him, much to Alec's 
mortification. The paymaster said : 

" Well, you could n't be in two places at 
once, and there was no good bothering you, 
and the doctors took fine care of him, and 
he (lid n't know one person from another; and 
it 's all right now. So it would have been 
wrong for me to worry you by telling you he 
was hurt ; and please say no more about it." 

Alec sat staring up at the blue vase, which 
was on the mantel in the old place of honor, 
as big as life, and, if anything, more exquisitely 
hideous than ever. He pointed to it with his 
bandaged right hand, and said rather dreamily : 

" Mama, was n't it good I saved your vase?" 

The three grown people looked at one an- 
other, and put their fingers on their lips, and 
the paymaster hummed, 

" Now is the time for disappearing," 

and slipped out. And it was years before Alec 
knew the truth about the " Old-Blue " Vase. 



HOLLY-BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 

(A Christmas Romance 0/14^2.) 



By M. Carrie Hyde. 



\Begun in the December Number. ] 

III. ETHELRED. 

A robber bold catches Ethelred fair, 

A fall from the wall, and he is — where ? 

Ethelred, dressed in a blue velvet doublet 
girt at the waist with a red leather belt, long 
silk hose, his head covered jauntily with a blue 
velvet cap from which swung a long feather — 
Ethelred, whose eyes were true blue, and who 
stood every inch a trim-built Saxon, flung a 
cape over his shoulders, and, followed by 
Harold, an attendant, went out into a high- 
walled court of the castle to pitch quoits. 

It was not great fun this morning; the cold 
iron rings chilled his fingers and his interest 
in the game, and he had just sent Harold for 
crossbows that they might fire at a target as 



warmer sport, when a man in an odd leather 
costume, and with pointed black beard and 
mustaches, suddenly appeared upon the wall 
and called to him. 

" Ha ! Lordhng Charlock, dapper httle sir, 
come hither a moment that you may see if this 
be aught of yours"; and he held toward Ethel- 
red something which sparkled like a dewdrop, 
though it was but a chipping of quartz. 

" No," said Ethelred, stiffly, not much fancy- 
ing the appearance of this familiar freebooter ; 
" that is naught of mine." 

" But you know not, till you come closer. ( )h ! 
You are the lad-laggard to-day, it seems; come, 
my little man, a step nearer"; and the enticer 
swung both boot-tops over the wall. 

"Get you gone!" cried Ethelred, and from 
the scabbard at his side he drew a little sword. 



192 



HOLLY- BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



[Jan. 



" So that 's it ? " said the strange man, taunt- 
ingly. " Let me see how near me you dare to 
come"; and he swung his feet back and forth, 
from his seat on the wall, while his eyes were 
on the castle windows, and his hands placed 
ready to spring backward, if by chance any one 
were to appear. 

" Come, now," he said. " See if the point of 
your wee sword can pierce my boot-leather." 

The color mounted to Ethelred's cheek ; he 
made a lunge at the stranger's feet, only to be 
grabbed and caught at the belt by the stran- 
ger, jerked upon the wall, and in the snapping 
of a whip-lash dropped to the ground upon the 
other side, the man still tightly clutching him. 

But Ethelred's capture did not end here ! 
Managing to gain his feet, he held his sword 
one instant on guard; then right-cut, left-cut, 
so fiercely that his captor was forced to let go 
his hold and parry in defense. He was fairly 
held at bay. 

Not once did Ethelred think of crying out 
for help, so unmanly did he deem it. Had 
he done so he might readily have been rescued. 
The stranger, fearing rescue if another instant 
were lost, made a deft spring upon the doughty 
little fellow, caught him by the doublet between 
his shoulders, and, tearing the small sword from 
his wiry grasp, sprung upon a horse waiting 
near, flung Ethelred head-downward across the 
saddle in front of him, and was off at a gallop 
over .stones, hedges, and bushes as they lay in the 
way, was soon out of sight in the dense wood. 

Attendant Harold, returning, could not be- 
lieve his sight when he saw no Ethelred there. 
Always a dullard, he gaped in open-mouthed 
silence many minutes, then rubbed his eyes in 
a dazed manner, staring up and down the 
court as if it had swallowed Ethelred. Then, 
shaking in an ague of alarm, his hair on end 
with terror, he ran into the hall, crying " Fire ! 
Murder! Fire!" 

" Zounds ! what has got that bawling slow- 
coach ? " cried Sir Charles Charlock. " He is 
clean daft. Hold your peace, brawler!" 

" Alack ! Alack ! " cried Harold, coming 
into Sir Charles's presence, " I mean not fire 
nor murder, because," and he tried to collect 
still further his scattered wits — "because 't is 
worse than that. The young master is gone, 



gone, gone ! " and at every " gone," he shot 
his voice a note higher; then, as if this were 
all, hung his head dejectedly on his breast. 

An ui)roar followed. " To the dungeon with 
this custard-pate ! " shouted Sir Charles. Then, 
organizing a searching-party on the spot, he 
led them right and left, up hill and down dale, 
during the next two days. The third day he 
gave the management of the searching-party 
to the bailiff, remaining indoors in despair. 

That he might not see where he was going, 
Ethelred's eyes were tightly bandaged. After 
the first mile or two he was set erect in the 
saddle, and when they had gone nearly ten 
times as far, and had entered a strange region, 
the blindfold was taken oft", and he was at lib- 
erty to look about him. 

"What say you now, my little fencer; know 
you where you are ? " asked his captor, 

Ethelred silently rubbed his aching eyes. 

" Know you who I am ? " 

" That I do right well," replied Ethelred, 
sturdily, though he gulped at his throat as if 
an apple were in it. " You are no other, so 
please you, than one of the robber Hardi- 
Hoods, whom father lately drove away. You 
would keep me till my father ransom me with 
gold, or mayhap do battle for me with play of 
halberds and spears about your ears." 

"So, so!" said the robber; thinking, "This 
child has a sense of canning about him; his 
backbone lacks no stifiening for his years; the 
boldness of his speech likes me well — much 
better than trickling tears, and the ' Prythee, 
kind robber, take me back to my mother,' of 
some. The play of his sword was in good 
earnest, too ! Had his father but asked us to 
betake ourselves from his estate, instead of driv- 
ing us therefrom like dogs, I might let the lad 
go ; but no, no," and he .shook his head de- 
cidedly, " it will not do now." 

" How think you," he asked of Ethelred, 
" — shall it like you to remain alway with the 
Hardi-Hoods, and grow up to their trade ? " 

" Never, please fortune," responded Ethelred, 
vehemently. " No Charlock has ever breathed 
who filched a groat's-worth from another." 

"Think you so?" said Chief Hardi-Hood 
(for, in truth, it was he); " how comes it then 



«8q3. 



111 »l l.\ -i;i;Rk\- \\h MISTI.KIOK. 



193 



VDiir C'luirlDc k lallici has taken from us our Soon the horse, paining, his steaming breath 

home amongst the rocks whicli had roofed us turned by the keen cold to a nest of crystals 

for years? We <hd no other harm to him and about liis nose and mouth, and piebald with 

his than now and tlien to stalk a deer, trap a foam upon his flanks and sides, stumbled for- 




"«5 



"dapper little sir, come hither a moment that VOr MAY SEE IF THIS BE Al'GHT OF YOl'RS.' 



pheasant, and help ourselves to a side of bacon. 
No wonder that we will to pay Sir Charles well 
off, before that he has done with us! Get 
forward, you snail-pacer; you must to quicker 
work," and spurring his horse to the top of 
his speed, they again shot ahead. 
Vol. XX. — 13. 



ward, but to regain his footing and stumble 
again. Unable to go any farther without rest, 
he now stopped stock-still. 

Dropping the bridle, the Hardi-Hood sprang 
off, and lifted Ethelred to the ground. Stiffened 
with the jolting and fast riding, the little fellow 



194 



HOLLY-RERRV ANI> MISTI.ETOK. 



[Jan. 



Stretched his limbs, filHped the dust from the 
breast of his doublet, and set his cap to rights. 
" Now, something to eat, is it ? " said the 
chief of the Hardi-Hoods, and unfastening a 
package tied to the saddle-bow, he took out a 
piece of black bread and a bit of dried venison. 



" By our good King Harry ! the Hardies are 
coming to meet us; I did not expect it!" 

A crackling in the brush was followed by the 
appearance of a dozen sturdy men, dressed like 
the chief Hardi-Hood, and with leather doublets 
and high-topped boots. All were well mounted. 




"SPLRKING HIS HORSE TO THE TOP OF HIS SPEED, THEY Ar.AIN SHOT AHEAD." 



"There, lad, sharpen your teeth on that. 'T is 
the best the Hardi-Hoods can do, for you or them- 
selves, in their ])resent case"; and lianding Ethel- 
red his allowance of the luncheon, he bit greed- 
ily into the share he had portioned to himself 

Silence was held for several moments. Then, 
suddenly, the robber-chief exclaimed : 



A few words were exchanged, a little more 
of the bread and venison eaten, and Ethelred, 
intrusted to another Hardi-Hood, was tossed 
upon the saddle as all sprang to horse, and 
made off at full speed. 

They must have ridden another twenty miles, 
and the last ten cumbersomely and lag-footed, 



i893 



IIOI.I.V-MKRKV ANM) MISTLETOE. 



^95 



as the way took them through briisli and 
thicket, among stubble, stumps, and rock, wluii 
the cavaUatle drew rein and tUsinounted before 
a natural fortress of high rocks. 

Well into the night they had traveled, and 
Ktheheil, too tired to move, was carried back 
of the rocks into a cavern, fitted with benches, 
skins, cooking-utensils, and hunting-gear. It 
was the robbers' home. 

IV. WEST. 

Three crows fly here ; three crows fly there, 
Then three cats spy, near the robbers' lair. 

When Mistletoe jokingly referred to "friends" 
whom Holly-berry knew not, she meant three 
crows which had taken lodgings in the oak- 
branches above her cottage, and every night 
and morning flew dow'n to her door for the 
handful of grain she as regularly fed them. So 
tame had they become that they sailed above 
her head from tree to tree when she searched 
the woods for berries and herbs, and followed 
her to the roadside edge with a " Caw, caw ! " 
of farewell on the days when she carried her 
pickings and findings to market. 

" Come no farther," she had once said to 
them, as if they could understand her, "for 
there are lads in the village to stone you, and 
call a harmless old woman like me a witch if 
she is seen with three crows in her wake; so go 
back and watch the cottage till I return. 

"Now," Mistletoe thought, "they shall go 
with me in search of the robbers, for their 
bright eyes may spy out what might escape 
mine, if 't is no more than a barley-corn, and 
they will keep me company and in good heart; 
so for a good night's rest, and the rest to-mor- 
row, as Holly-berry would put it," and draw- 
ing the dimity curtains, and pinching out her 
candle, she was soon fast asleep. 

The next morning awakened clear and cold, 
the snow still three inches deep upon the 
ground. 

"Wha! Billy McGee, McGaw, and Jack 
Daw, come hither," called Mistletoe from her 
door. 

No sooner had she uttered her cry than the 
crows flapped heavily down from their perch 
on the oak-branches, scattering the snow in 



Hurries like smoke as they did so, and with a 
"Caw, caw, caw," began picking their way 
back and forth over the snow in front of her 
door. 

Mistletoe took down her long cane, hung by 
its crooked handle on a peg back of the door, 
dropped the dimity curtains, fastened the door, 
drew her cape closely about her, and stepped 
out into the snow. 

As .she did so, she dropped a few grains of 
barley ujjon the snow, which the crows eagerly 
devoured, and thus she led them to follow her 
all the way. By high noon, open country was 
reached, and they were well into mid- England. 

Here all came to a rest. Mistletoe took a 
seat upon a turnstile overlooking the king's 
highway, and, while reflecting upon her next 
move, ate the lunch she had carefully stored in 
the long black bag she wore on her arm, and 
scattered from it some grain for the crows. 

They gulped down their luncheon hurriedly, 
then flew to a mile-stone, on which, while they 
plumed their sleek feathers, they seemed to 
chatter among themselves. 

As Dame Misdetoe lingered after her lun- 
cheon, the crowds became impatient. At length, 
rising high from the mile-stone, they setded one 
by one at her feet, their heads pointed due 
westward. 

"Yes," she said, "time is precious; 't is well 
to bring your chatter to a close; w^e must go 
on — yet in what direction? Your bills are set 
to the west. Suppose I take that for my 
guide-post ? Here in the road, where the snow 
has melted, I see a horse's footprint, as clean 
cut as if old ' Hard-hoof himself had stamped 
it there, and it points toward the west. Only 
one more sign is needed," and snapping a twig 
from the hawthorn-bush back of the stile, she 
laid it on her left palm. Saying " North, south, 
east, west ! " she struck upon her left wrist with 
her right hand, when the tw'ig bounded from 
her palm directly toward the west. 

" That is well ; it goes to west, and to the 
west we will go," she said, as the crow-s cried 
" Caw, caw ! " to see her set out. 

But going \vest was not easy, for soon it led 
through tough woods, where narrow paths 
hampered with sly brambles seemed to in- 
crease instead of lessening the distance. Now 



196 



HOLLV-BERRV AND MISTLETOE. 



(Jan. 



and then Mistletoe heard the "Caw, caw,' of 
her crows above the tree-tops, or caught a 
glimpse of their black wings fanning the blue 
sky as they sailed overhead. Still she was not 
disheartened nor fatigued by her hard tramp, 
when, just at nightfall, she reached a wood- 
cutter's cottage where she determined to spend 
the night. 

" Peace be with us I if it is n't good Mother 
Mistletoe, come to see Canute and me ! " cried 
a bright-eyed, cherry-cheeked young woman 
answering Mistletoe's cane-tap upon the door- 
stone. " Who would have thought it, and in 
midwinter too!" and Jeannie's face was cov- 
ered with a smile of welcome. 

" Prythee, child, 't is but to stay the night 
with you, if it so pleases," responded Mistletoe, 
taking the hand of her plump little hostess, 
who but a year before had been at such odds 
with her family for wishing to wed wood-cutter 
Canute, that only Mistletoe had been able to 
patch the quarrel and turn the wrangUng into 
a merry marriage-reel ; " to-morrow morning 
early I shall be going on, so grumble not if 
you waken and find me gone." 

" Not so," said Jeannie ; " if it must be that 
you leave us so early, Canute and I will both 
be up to see you off in fitting style." 

Misdetoe nodded her head, well pleased with 
her greeting, talking far into the night with the 
wood-cutter and his wife, yet telling them 
never a word of her quest; while, from their 
unfastened doors, and unsecured windows, she 
learned they had no fear of robbers in this 
lonely wood. 

" A hot broth is steaming for you, good 
Dame Misdetoe, but, alack ! it is not of bar- 
ley," called Jeannie the next morning a half 
hour before the clock had struck four, " for 
what think you has befallen us in the night ? " 

'' I know not," replied Mistletoe, emerging 
from the tiny room assigned her, and looking 
in her peaked-hat and neat neckerchief as trim 
and trig as if she had but walked a stone's- 
throw the previous day. " I have little skill 
in the guesser's art. Has some bad luck be- 
fallen you?" 

"It is that our last and only bag of barley 
was stolen in the night ! Never has such like 
happened us before!" and Jeannie rubbed 



the tears from her eyes. "Canute is already in 
pursuit of the thieves! " 

"Which way has he taken?" asked Mistletoe. 
sui)ping her broth hurriedly. 

" To the southeastward, for it is likely," he 
said, "that they are some bold trampers — 
though belike it is but one — strayed toward us 
on the way to Lunnun-town. Some little bar- 
ley they spilled right next the door-stone, and 
three crows are already there to eat it. See 
you them? Think you they could have aught 
to do with the taking of it? 'T is hearsay that 
they bode no good." 

" Nor harm, either," said Mistletoe, cheerily, 
"unless it is the taking from you of a crop of 
barley, through their bills, that is not worth a 
penny-toss, and is the robber's loss at that! — 
But now I must be off. On my way back I will 
stay me a twinkling to hear if Canute has 
caught the robbers"; and stepping out, as the 
crows rose from the ground and flew above 
her, she trudged sturdily away again upon her 
search. 

At the end of the first few miles, the path 
she followed diverged in three divisions, all 
seemingly little traveled, and equally unkempt 
and forbidding. 

Mistletoe stopped and reflected which to 
take. A broken thorn-bush and some tram- 
pled earth, as if a restive horse had been tied 
and, later, driven along the northwest path, was 
deciding her to choose that way, when she ob- 
served that the crows, settling upon the mid- 
west path in front of her, were picking here 
and there at scattered barley-grains. 

"Ah, ha! Sir Robber!" she exclaimed to 
herself, " I see you did not come my way, 
but struck your ])ath by some more secluded 
track; 't is well, however, for a bag that leaks 
once will leak twice and thrice. All seems in 
train for the crows and me," and laughing 
right gleefully, she followed her sable birds as 
they swallowed the barley-trail. 

The crows still picking the stolen barley- 
corns or flying above the steep rocks — they 
came to a rugged cliff, extending up one side of 
a deep ravine, fended by a wild growth of brush 
and trees, that looked almost impenetrable. 
Stunted hemlocks, thick-set pines, and brawling 
scrub-oaks scratched and scraped upon each 



«893] 



IlULl.V-HKUKV AM) MISTLETOE. 



197 



Other, as it wrangling in ilicir anlor to prolcti 
a spot so grimly ailaptcd to a robbers' den. 

Mistletoe, scanning closely this stronghokl, 
from a rise upc)n which she cautiously stood 
overlooking the tree-jungle, anxiously watched 
for some appearance of life within the grim 
ravine. 

" By my faith ! 't is strange," she said to her- 
self, after waiting a good half-hour, " that no 
one goes in, out, or about this hawk-nest of 
an hollow ; there seems not even a horse 
to whinny, nor a dog to whine, yet I am 
far in my dotage if this is not the Hardis' 
home ! " 

Suddenly, with a " Caw, caw, caw," the 
crows rose high in the air, from the tall tree 
on which they had been perching, then 
dropped as quickly, and ranged themselves 
on a lower limb of the same tree, where sat, 
on an opposite limb, a black cat that had 
been bird-nesting. 

The cat put up its back hair, and comb- 
ing its way down the tree-trunk, in a snarl 
of terror, scurried toward the door of the 
robber cave. 

This door was of hewn oak, strongly set with 
iron bolts and hinges, and, that it might not 
attract the attention of even a winter spy, was 
staineci and weather-marked to match the face 
of the rock into which it opened, while bushes 
and a few clinging vines, though bare of fo- 
liage at this season, still further masked its use 
to all but the robber family. 

" So ! So ! " cried Mistletoe, her eyes upon 
the cat as it scratched and meawed at the 
cave door for admission. " First 't is the barley, 
and then 't is the cat that tells us, as plain as 
day, where hide the Hardi- Hoods. If I mis- 
take not, this cat is the same as they had 
with them on Charlock-land, that was the fear 
of every chipmunk, chick, and sparrow upon 
the place." 



'• Hark ye ! " e.xclaimeel the chief of the 
Hardi-Hoods, who was at home drowsing in 
the cave, " what has got the cat that it is 
currying down the door at such a rate, ami 
\()\vls louder than a hinge rusted f(jr fifty years. 
Something is much amiss ! " and opening the 
door, he went to fmd what had alarmed the cat 
as it scuttled by him, and hid in the darkest 
corner of the cave. 

" This means something very wrong," said 
the robber, and he gazetl warily about. 

Above him was a beautiful sky, broad and 
blue, unflecked by a single storm-cloud; 
around him was the thick tree-jungle, bent 
only on its picket duty; under him was the 
ground laid out in deceiving trap-holes, but he 
had put them there. Need he fear danger ? 

At length his eye lighted on the three crows, 
seated side by side on a high tree overshadow- 
ing the cliff. 

"Sho!" he cried, " it is a brave cat you are!" 
cried he. " Here, bring my crossbow, that I 
may lay out a scarecrow, one, two, three of 
them, for our dainty kit to dine on." 

Ethelred, unable to resist the temptation to 
look outside, followed Chief Hardi-Hood on 
tiptoe; and now, as that robber turned to re- 
ceive his crossbow, dived under his extended 
arm, and bounded out into the fresh air. 

" Here, you young Charlock ! " cried the rob- 
ber chief, catching him by his doublet, "get 
you back to yonder cave, else will you be sent 
to join the crows !" 

" Caw, caw, caw ! " said the crows, rising in 
heavy flight from the tree and sailing out of 
sight. 

" Plague upon it ! " exclaimed Chief Hardi- 
Hood, " I lost a good shot because of that 
nimble lad. I will be tilly-vallyed if he has 
aught but a planked shadow for his supper, 
ill luck to it! — though he seldom eats much 
more than that, as 't is." 



( To be continued. ) 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

Author of " The Birds'' Christmas Carol,''' "A Summer in a Cation,''' etc. 



{Beg^iiit in the Soz'cmber number.] 

Chapter VI. 

POLLY TRIES A LITTLE MISSIONARY WORK. 

One change had come over their hfe during 
these months which is not explained in Polly's 
correspondence, and it concerns our little circle 
of people very intimately. 

The Ohvers had been in San Francisco over 
a month, but though Edgar Noble had been 
advised of the fact, he had not come over from 
Berkeley to see his old friends. Polly had at 
length written him a note which still remained 
unanswered when she started one afternoon on 
a trip across the bay for her first Spanish conver- 
sation with Professor Salazar. She had once 
visited the university buildings, but Professor 
Salazar lived not only at some distance from the 
college, but at some distance from everything 
else. Still, she had elaborate written directions 
in her pocket, and hoped to find the place 
without difficulty. 

She had no sooner ahghted at the station 
than she felt an uneasy consciousness that it 
was not the right one, and that she should have 
gone farther before leaving the railway. How- 
ever, there was no certainty about it in her 
mind, so after asking at two houses half a mile 
apart, and finding that the inmates had never 
heard of Professor Salazar's existence, she 
walked down a shady road, hoping to find 
another household where his name and fame 
had penetrated. 

The appointed hour for the lessons was half- 
past three on Fridays, but it was after four, and 
Polly seemed to be walking farther and farther 
away from civilization. 

" I shall have to give it up," she thought ; 
" I will go back to the station where I got ofi" 
and wait until the next train for San Francisco 
comes along, which will be nobody knows 



when. How provoking it is, and how stupid I 
am ! Professor Salazar will stay at home for 
me, and very likely Mrs. Salazar has made little 
cakes and coffee, and here I am floundering in 
the woods ! I '11 sit down under these trees, 
and do a bit of Spanish while I 'm resting for 
the walk back." 

Just at this moment a chorus of voices 
sounded in the distance, then some loud talk- 
ing, then more singing. 

" It is some of the students," thought Polly, 
as she hastily retired behind a tree until they 
should pass. 

But unfortunately they did not pass. Just 
as they came opposite her hiding-place, they 
threw themselves down in a sunny spot on the 
opposite side of the road and lighted their 
cigarettes. 

"No hurry!" said one, "let 's take it easy; 
the train does n't leave till 4.50. Where are 
you going, Ned ? " 

" Home, I guess, where I was going when 
you met me. I told you I could only walk to 
the turn." 

" Home ? No, you don't ! " expostulated 
half a dozen laughing voices ; " we 've un- 
earthed the would-be hermit, and we mean to 
keep him." 

" Can't go with you to-night, boys, worse 
luck ! " repeated the second speaker. " Got 
to cram for that examination or be plucked 
again; and one more plucking will settle this 
child's university career ! " 

"Oh! let the examinations go to the dick- 
ens! What 's the use? — all the same a hun- 
dred years hence. The idea of cramming 
Friday night ! Come on ! " 

" Can't do it, old chaps; but next time goes. 
See you Monday. Ta-ta ! " 

Polly peeped cautiously from behind her tree. 

" I believe that voice is Edgar Noble's, or 



I'oi.i.v c)i.i\ i:i< s rk(Ji;i.EM. 



199 



else 1 'm very much mistaken. 1 tlioughi of it Meanwhile I'ully had been plotting. Her 

wlien 1 first heard them singing. Yes, it is! brain was not a great one, but it worked very 

Now, those hateful boys are going to get him swiftly. Scarcx'ly stopping to think, lest her 

into trouble I " courage should not be equal to the strain of 

Just at this moment four of the boys jumped meeting six or eight young men face to face, 

tVom the ground and. singing vociferously she stepped softly out of her retreat, walked 

" Ho won'i go lioine .my 

more, 
He won't go home any 

more, 
\lc won't go lionie any 

more, 
Way down on llie Bingo 

farm ! " 

they rushed after young 
Noble, pinioned him, and 
brought him back. 

" See here, Noble," ex- 
postulated one of them 
who seemed to be a 
commanding genius a- 
mong the rest, — " see 
here, don't go and be 
a spoil-sport ! What 's 
the matter with you? 
We 're going to chip in 
for a good dinner, go to 
the minstrels, and then, 
— oh ! then we '11 go and 
have a game of billiards. 
You play so well that 
you won't have to pay 
anything. And if you 
want money, Will 's 
flush, he '11 lend you a 
' tenner.' You know there 
won't be any fun in 
it unless you 're there! 
We '11 get the last boat 
back to-night, or the first in the morning." 

A letter from his mother lay in Edgar's 
pocket — a letter which had brought something 
like tears to his eyes for a moment, and over 
which he had vowed better things. But he 
yielded, nevertheless, — that it was with reluc- 
tance did n't do any particular good to any- 
body, though the recording angels may have 
made a note of it, — and strolled along with 
the other students, who were evidently in great 
glee over their triumph. 




"-f^iiai^ 



-» y 



"POLLY PEEPED CAIITIOUSLV KKOM BEHIND HER TREE." 



gently down the road, and when she had come 
within ten feet of the group, halted, and, clear- 
ing her throat desperately, said, " I beg your 
pardon — " 

The whole party turned with one accord, a 
good deal of amazement in their eyes, as there 
had not been a sign of life in the road a mo- 
ment before, and now here was a sort of wood- 
land sprite, a " nut-brown mayde " with a re- 
markably sweet voice. 

" I beg your pardon, but can you tell me 



200 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



[Jan. 



the way to Professor Salazar's house? — Why" 
(this with a charming smile and expression as 
of one having found an angel of deliverance) — 
'•why, it is — is n't it? — Mr, Edgar Xoble of 
Santa Barbara ! " 

Edgar, murmuring " Polly Oliver, by Jove I " 
lifted his hat at once, and saying, " Excuse me, 
boys," turned back and gallandy walked at 
Polly's side. 

" Why, Miss Polly, this is an unexpected way 
of meeting you ! " 

("Very unexpected," thought Polly.) " Is it 
not, indeed ? I wrote you a note the other 
day, telling you that we hoped to see you soon 
in San Francisco." 

" Yes," said Edgar ; " I did n't answer it be- 
cause I intended to present myself in person 
to-morrow or Sunday. What are you doing in 
this vicinity ? " he continued, " or, to put it 
poetically, 

" Pray why are you loitering here, pretty maid ? " 

" No wonder you ask. I am ' floundering ' 
at present. I came over to a Spanish lesson at 
Professor Salazar's, and I have quite lost my 
way. If you will be kind enough to put me on 
the right road I shall be very much obliged, 
though I don't like to keep you from your 
friends," said Polly, with a (juizzical smile. 
" You see the Professor won't know why 1 
missed my appointment, and I can't bear to let 
him think me capable of neglect ; he has been 
so very kind." 

" But you can't walk there. You must have 
gotten off at the wrong station; it is quite a 
mile, even across the fields." 

"And what is a mile, sir? Have you for- 
gotten that I am a country girl ? " and she 
smiled up at him brightly, with a look that 
challenged remembrance. 

" I remember that you could walk with any 
of us," said Edgar, thinking how the freckles 
had disappeared from Polly's roseleaf skin, and 
how particularly fetching she looked in her 
brown felt sailor-hat. " Well, if you really wish 
to go there, I '11 see you safely to the house and 
take you over to the city afterward, as it will 
be almost dark. I was going over, at any 
rate, and one train earlier or later won't make 
any difference." 



(" Perhaps it won't and perhaps it will," 
thought Polly.) " If you are sure it won't be 
too much trouble then — " 

" Not a bit. Excuse me a moment while I 
run back and explain the matter to the boys." 

The boys did not require any elaborate ex- 
planation. 

Oh ! the power of a winsome face ! No bet- 
ter than many other good things, but surely 
one of them, and when it is united to a fair 
amount of goodness, something to be devoutly 
thankful for. It is to be feared that if a lump- 
ish, dumpish sort of girl (good as gold, you 
know, but not suitable for occasions when a 
fellow's will has to be caught " on the fly," and 
held until it settles to its work), if that lump- 
ish, dumpish girl had asked the way to Pro- 
fessor Salazar's house, Edgar Noble would 
have led her courteously to the turn of the 
road, lifted his hat, and wished her a pleasant 
journey. 

But Polly was wearing her Sunday dress 
of golden brown cloth and a jaunty jacket 
trimmed with tawny sable (the best bits of an 
old pelisse of Mrs. Oliver's). The sun shone on 
the loose coil of her waving hair that was only 
caught in place by a tortoise-shell arrow; the 
wind blew some of the dazzling tendrils across 
her forehead; the eyes that glanced up from 
under her smart little sailor-hat were as blue as 
sapphires; and Edgar, as he looked, suddenly 
feared that there might be vicious bulls in the 
meadows, and did n't dare as a gentleman to 
trust Polly alone ! He had n't remembered 
anything special about her, but after an interval 
of two years she seemed all at once as desirable 
as dinner, as tempting as the minstrels, almost 
as the fascinating billiards (when one had just 
money enough in one's pocket for one's last 
board-bill and none for the next) ! 

The boys, as I say, had imagined Edgar's 
probable process of reasoning. Polly was stand- 
ing in the highroad where " a wayfaring man, 
though a fool," could look at her; and when 
Edgar explained that it was his duty to see her 
safely to her destination, they all bowed to the 
inevitable. The one called Tony even said that 
he would be glad to "swap" with him, and the 
whole party ofi'ered to supjjort him in his escort 
duty if he said the word. He agreed to meet 



1893.1 



I'OI.LV OLIVKK S I'kOlSI.KM. 



201 



ihc boys later, as Polly's iiuii k car assured her, 
ami having behaved both as a man of honor 
and knight of chivalry, he started unsus])ect- 
ingly across the I'lelils w idi liis would-be 
guardian. 

She tlarled a searching look at him as they 
walked along. 

"Oh, how old and 'gentlemanly' you look, 
Kdgar ! 1 feel ijuite afraid of you ! " 

" I 'm glad you do. There used to be a pain- 
ful lack of reverence in your manners, Miss 
Polly." 

" There used to be a painful lack of polite- 
ness in yours, Mr. Edgar. Oh, dear, I meant 
to begin so nicely with you and astonish you 
with my new grown-up manners ! Now, Edgar, 
if you will try your best not to be provoking, 
I won't say a single disagreeable thing." 

" Polly, shall I tell you the truth ? " 

" You might try ; it would be good practice, 
even if you did n't accomplish anything." 

" How does that remark conform with your 
late promises ? However, I '11 be forgiving 
and see if I receive any reward ; I 've tried 
every other line of action. What I was going 
to say when you fired that last shot was this. 
I agree with Jack Howard, who used to say 
that he would rather quarrel with you than be 
friends with any other girl." 

" It is nice," said Polly comjilacently. " I 
feel a sort of pleasant glow myself, whenever 
1 've talked to you a few minutes; but the 
trouble is that you used to fan that pleasant 
glow into a raging heat, and then we both got 
angry." 

" Now if the ' raging heat ' has faded into the 
' pleasant glow,' I don't mind telling you that 
you are very much improved," said Edgar, en- 
couragingly. " Your temper seems much the 
same, but no one who knew you at fourteen 
could have foreseen that you would turn out so 
exceedingly well." 

" Do you mean that I am better-looking ? " 
asked Polly, with the excited frankness of six- 
teen years. 

" Exacdy." 

" Oh ! thank you, thank you, Edgar. I 'm 
ever so much obliged. I 've thought so a little 
myself, lately ; but it 's w'orth everything to 
have your grown-up, college opinion. Of 



K>urse red hair has lonie iiUo fashion, — that 's 
one point in my favor, though I never dare to 
stand in a strong light. Then my freckles have 
gone, which is a great help. Nothing can be 
done with my aspiring nose. I 've tried in 
vain to push it down, and now I 'm simply liv- 
ing it down. " 

" Now, do you know, I rather like your nose, 
anil it 's a very valuable index to your disposi- 
tion. I don't know whether, if it were re- 
moved from your face, it would mean so much ; 
but taken in connection with its surroundings, 
it 's a very expressive feature ; it warns the 
stranger to be careful." 

And so, with a great deal of nonsense and a 
good sprinkling of cjuiet, friendly chat, they 
made their way to Professor Salazar's house, 
proffered Polly's apologies, and took the train 
for San Francisco. 

Chapter VII. 

" WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS." 

The trip from Berkeley to San Francisco 
was a brilliant success from Edgar's stand- 
point, but Polly would have told you that she 
never worked harder in her life. 

" I 'II just say ' How do you do ? ' to your 
mother, and then be off," said Edgar as they 
neared the house. 

" Oh, but you surely will stay to dinner with 
us ! " said Polly, with the most innocent look of 
disappointment on her face, — a look of such 
obvious grief that a person of any feeling could 
hardly help wishing to remove it, if possible. 
" You see, Edgar " (putting the latch-key in 
the door), "mama is so languid and ill that she 
cannot indulge in many pleasures, and I had 
quite counted on you to amuse her a little 
for me this evening. But come up and you 
shall do as you Hke after dinner. 

" I 've brought you a charming surprise, 
Mamacita!" called Polly from the stairs; "an 
old friend whom I picked up in the woods like 
a wild flower" (" that 's a good name for him," 
she thought) " and brought home to you." 

Mrs. Oliver was delighted to see Edgar, but 
after the first greetings were over, Polly fancied 
that she had not closed the front door, and 
Edgar offered to go down and make sure. 



202 



POLLY OLIVER S PROr-LEM. 



[Jan. 



In a second Polly crossed the room to her 
mother's side, and whispered impressively, '' Ed- 
gar must be kept here until after midnight; I 
have good reasons that I will explain when we 
are alone. Keep him somehow, — anyhow ! " 

Mrs. Oliver had not lived sixteen years with 
Polly without learning to leap to conclusions. 
" Run down and ask Mrs. Howe if she will let 
us have her hall-bedroom to-night," she re- 
plied; "nod your head for jr^ when you come 
back, and I '11 act accordingly; I have a re- 
quest to make of Edgar, and am glad to have 
so early an opportunity of talking with him." 

" We did close the door, after all," said Ed- 
gar, coming in again. " What a pretty litde flat 
you have here ! I have n't seen anything so 
cozy and homelike for ages." 

"Then make yourself at home in it," said 
Mrs. Oliver, while Polly joined in with, " Is n't 
that a pretty fire in the grate ? I '11 give you 
one rose-colored lamp with your firelight. Here, 
Mamacita, is the rocker for you on one side; 
here, Edgar, is our one ' man's chair ' for you 
on the other. Stretch out your feet as lazily 
as you like on my new goatskin rug. You are 
our only home-friend in San Francisco; and 
oh I how mama will spoil you whenever she has 
the chance ! Now talk to each other cozily 
while the ' angel of the house ' cooks dinner." 

It may be mentioned here that as Mrs. 
Chadwick's monthly remittances varied from 
sixty to seventy-five dollars, but never reached 
the promised eighty-five, Polly had dismissed 
little Yung Lee for a month, two weeks of 
which would be the Christmas vacation, and 
hoped in this way to make up deficiencies. The 
sugar-bowl and ginger-jar were stuffed copiously 
with notes of hand .signed " Cigar-box," but 
held a painfully small amount of cash. 

" Can't I go out and help Polly ? " asked Ed- 
gar, a little later. " I should never have agreed 
to stay and dine if I had known that she was the 
cook." 

"Go out, by all means; but you need n't be 
anxious. Ours is a sort of doll-housekeeping. 
We buy everything cooked, as far as possible, 
and Polly makes play of the rest. It all seems 
so simple and interesting to plan for two when 
we have been used to twelve and fourteen." 

" Can I come in ? " called Edgar from the 



tiny dining-room to Polly, who had laid aside 
her Sunday finery and was clad in brown Scotch 
gingham mostly covered with apron. 

"Yes, if you like; but you won't be .spoiled 
here, so don't hope it. Mama and I are two 
very different persons. Tie that apron round 
your waist; I 've just begun the salad-dressing; 
is your intelligence ecjual to stirring it round 
and round and pouring in oil drop by drop, 
while I take up the dinner ? " 

" Fully. Just try me. I '11 make it stand on 
its head in three minutes I " 

Meanwhile Polly set on the table a platter 
of lamb-chops; some Saratoga potatoes which 
had come out of a pasteboard box ; a dish of 
canned French peas, and a mound of currant- 
jelly. 

" That 's good," she remarked critically, 
coming back to her apprentice, who was toil- 
ing with most unnecessary vigor, so that the 
veins stood out boldly on his forehead. " You 're 
really not stupid, for a boy; and you have n't 
' made a mess,' which is more than I hoped. 
Now please pour the dressing over those sliced 
tomatoes; set them on the side-table in the 
banquet-hall; put the plate in the sink; move 
three chairs up to the dining-table (oh ! it 's so 
charming to have three ! ); light the silver can- 
dlesticks in the middle of the table ; go in and 
get mama ; see if the fire needs coal ; and I '11 
be ready by that time." 

" I can never remember, but I fly ! Oh ! what 
an excellent slave-driver was spoiled in you ! " 
said Edgar. 

The little dinner was delicious, and such a 
change from the long boarding-house table at 
which Edgar had eaten for over a year. The 
candles gave a soft light; there was a bowl of 
yellow flowers underneath them. Mrs. Oliver 
looked like an elderly Dresden-china shepherd- 
ess in her pale blue wrapper, and Polly did n't 
suffer from the brown gingham, with its wide 
collar and cuffs of buff" embroidery, and its quaint 
full sleeves. Edgar insisted on changing the 
plates and putting on the tomato-salad ; then 
Polly officiated at the next course, bringing in 
coffee, sliced oranges, and delicious cake from 
the "Woman's Exchange." 

" Can't I wipe the dishes ? " asked Edgar, 
when the feast was ended. 



1893.) 



rOLLY OLIVER S I'ROULEM. 



203 



" They 're not going to be wiped, at least by 
us. This is a great occasion, anil the little girl 
down-stairs is coming up to clear away the 
dinner things." 

Then there was the pleasant jjarlor again, 
and when the canilles were lighted in the old- 
fashioned mirror over the fireplace, everything 
wore a festive appearance. The guitar was 
brought out, and Kilgar sang college songs till 
Mrs. Oliver grew so bright that she even 
hummed a faint alto from her cozy place on 
the sofo. 

And then Polly must show Edgar how she 
had made Austin Dobson's " Milkmaid Song" 
fit " Nelly Bly," and she must teach him the 
pretty words. 

After this singing-lesson was over it was ten 
o'clock, but up to this time Edgar had shown 
no realizing sense of his engagements. 

" The dinner is over, and the theater party is 
safe," thought Polly. " Now comes the ' tug of 
war,' that mysterious little game of billiards." 

But Mrs. Oliver was equal to the occasion. 
When Edgar looked at his watch, she said : 
'* Polly, run and get Mrs. Noble's last letter, 
dear"; and then, when she was alone with 
Edgar, " My dear boy, 1 have a favor to ask 
of you, and you must be quite frank if it is not 
convenient for you to grant it. As to-morrow 
will be Saturday, perhaps you have no recita- 
tions, and if not, would it trouble you too much 
to stay here all night and attend to something 
for me in the morning ? I will explain the 
matter, and then you can answer me more 
decidedly. I have received a letter from a 
Washington friend who seems to think it possi- 
ble that a pension may be granted to me. He 

sends a letter of introduction to General M , 

at the Presidio, who, he says, knew Colonel 
Oliver, and will be able to advise me in the 
matter. I am not well enough to go there for 
some days, and of course I do not like to send 
Polly alone. If you could go out with her, give 
him the letter of introduction, and ask him 
kindly to call upon us at his leisure, and find 
out also if there is any danger in a little delay 
just now while I am ill, it would be a very 
great favor." 

" Of course I w-ill, with all the pleasure in life, 
Mrs. Oliver," replied Edgar, with the unspoken 



thought, " Confound it! There goes my game; 
I promised the fellows to be there, and they '11 
guy me for staying away ! However, there 's 
nothing else to do. I should n't have the face 
to go out how and come in at one or two 
o'clock in the morning." 

Polly entered just then with the letter. 

" Edgar is kind enough to stay all night with 
us, dear, and take you to the Presidio on the 
pension business in the morning. If you will 
see that his room is all right, 1 will say good 
night now. Our little guest-chamber is down- 
stairs, Edgar. I hope you will be very comfort- 
able. Breakfast at half-past eight, please." 

The door of Mrs. Howe's bedroom closed on 
P^dgar, and Polly sank exhausted on her bed. 

" Now, Mama, ' listen to my tale of woe ! ' 
I got oft' at the wrong station, — yes, it was 
stupid; but wait, perhaps I was led to be stu- 
pid. I lost my way, could n't find Professor 
Salazar's house, could n't find anything else. 
As I was wandering about in a woodsy road, 
trying to find a house of some kind, I heard 
a crowd of boys singing vociferously as they 
came through the trees. I did n't care to meet 
them, all alone as I was, — though, of course, 
there was nothing to be afraid of, — so I stepped 
off the road behind some trees and bushes until 
they should pass. It turned out to be half a 
dozen university students, and at first I did n't 
know that Edgar was among them. They were 
teasing somebody to go over to San Francisco 
for a dinner, then to the minstrels, and then to 
wind up with a game of billiards, and other 
gaieties which were to be prolonged indefi- 
finitely. What dreadful things that may have 
included I don't know. A httle wretch 
named 'Tony' did most of the teasing, and 
he looked equal to planning any sort of mis- 
chief All at once I thought I recognized a 
familiar voice. I peeped out, and sure enough it 
w^as Edgar Noble whom they w-ere coaxing. He 
did n't want to go a bit, — I '11 say that for him, 
— but they were determined that he should. 
I did n't mind his going to dinners and min- 
strels, of course, but when they spoke of being 
out until after midnight, or to-morrow morning, 
and when one beetle-browed, common-looking 
thing offered to lend him a 'tenner,' I thought of 
the mortgage on the Noble ranch, and the 



204 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Jan. 



trouble there would be if Edgar should get into 
debt, and I felt that I must do something to stop 
him, especially as he said himself that every- 
thing depended on his next examinations." 

" But how did you accomplish it ? " asked 
Mrs. Oliver, sitting up in bed and glowing with 
interest. 

" They sat down by the roadside, smoking 
and talking it over. There was n't another well- 




HOLLY SINGS THE MILKMAID 



born, well-bred looking young man in the 
group. Edgar looked a prince among them, 
and I was so ashamed of him for having such 
friends! I was afraid they would stay there 
until dark, but they finally got up and walked 
toward the station. I waited a few moments, 
went softly along behind them, and when I was 
near enough I cleared my throat (oh, it was a 
fearful moment !), and said, ' I beg your pardon, 
but can you direct me to Professor Salazar's 
house ?' — and then in a dramatic tone, 'Why, 
it is — isn't it? — Edgar Noble of Santa Bar- 



bara!' He joined me, of course, — oh! I can't 
begin to tell you all the steps of the affair, I am 
exhausted. Suffice it to say that he walked 
to Professor Salazar's with me to make 
my excuses, came over to the city with me, 
came up to the house (I trembling for fear 
he would slip through my fingers at any mo- 
ment!); then, you know, he stayed to din- 
ner (I in terror all the time as the fatal hours 
approached and de- 
parted !), and there he 
is, ' the captive of my 
bow and spear,' tucked 
in Mrs. Howe's best 
bed, — thanks to your in- 
genuity ! I could never 
have devised that last 
plot. Mama, it was a 
masterpiece ! " 

" You did a kind deed, 
little daughter," said Mrs. 
Oliver, with a kiss. " But 
poor Mrs. Noble ! What 
can we do for her ? We 
cannot play policemen 
all the time. We are too 
for from Edgar to know 
•'II! his plans, and any inter- 
ference of which he is 
conscious would beworse 
than nothing. T cannot 
believe that he is far 
wrong yet. He certainly 
never appeared better; 
so polite and thought- 
ful and friendly. Well, 
we must let the morrow 
bring counsel." 
" I hope tliat smirking, odious Tony is dis- 
appointed!" said Polly viciously, as she turned 
out the gas. " I distinctly heard him tell Edgar 
to throw a handkerchief over my hair if we 
should j)ass any wild cattle ! How I 'd like to 
banish him from this vicinity ! Invite Edgar 
to dinner next week. Mama ; not too soon, or 
he will suspect missionary work. Boys hate to 
be missionaried, and I 'm sure I don't blame 
them. I hope he is happy down-stairs in his 
little ]irison ! He ought to be, if ignorance is 
bliss ! " 



'893 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



205 



Chaitkr VI II. 



TWO KIRKSIDK CHATS. 



I r was five o'clock Saturday afternoon, and 
Kdgar Noble stood on the Olivers' steps, Mrs. 
Oliver waving her hantl from an ui)per window, 
and Polly staniling on the stairs saying good-by. 

"Come over to dinner some night, won't you, 
Edgar?" she asked carelessly, — "any night 
you like, \WHlnesday, Thursday, Friday." 

" Weilnestlay, please, as it comes first I " said 
Edgar, roguishly. " May I help cook it ? " 

" Vou not onlv niav, but vou must, (iood- 

by." 

Polly went up-stairs, and, after washing the 
lunch-dishes in a reflective turn of mind which 
did away with part of the irksomeness of the 
task, went into the parlor anil sat on a hassock 
at her mother's feet. 

A soft rain had begun to flill ; the fire burned 
brightly ; the bamboo cast feathery shadows on 
the wall ; from a house across the street came 
the sound of a beautiful voice singing, 

" Oil, holy niglit 1 the stars are brightly shining. 
It is the night of tlie dear Saviour's birth I " 

All was peaceful and homelike, if it would 
only last, thought Polly. 

" You are well to-night, Mamacita." 

A look of repressed pain, crossed Mrs. Oli- 
ver's face as she smoothed the bright head lying 
in her lap. " Very comfortable, dear, and very 
happy; as who would not be, with such a dar- 
ling comfort of a daughter ? Always sunny, 
always helpful these last dear weeks, — cook, 
houskeeper, nurse, banker, all in one, with never 
a complaint as one burden after another is laid 
on her wiUing shoulders." 

" Don't, Mama ! " whispered Polly, seeking 
desperately for her handkerchief. " I can stand 
scoldings, but compliments always make me cry; 
you know they do. Your whole duty is to be 
well, well, well, and I '11 take care of everything 
else." 

" I 've been thinking about Edgar, Polly, and 
I have a plan, but I shall not think of urging it 
against your will ; you are the mistress of the 
house nowadays." 

" I know \vhat it is," sighed Polly. " You 
think we ought to take another boarder. A de- 



sire lor boarders is like a taste for strong drink: 
once actjuireil, it is almost impossible to eradi- 
cate it from the system." 

" 1 do think we ought to take this boarder 
Not because it will make a difference in our in- 
come, but 1 am convinced that if Kdgar can 
have a pleasant home and our companionship 
just at this juncture, he will break away from his 
idle habits, and jjcrhaps his bad associations, 
and take a fresh start. I feel that we owe it to 
our dear old friends to do this for them, if we 
can. Of course, if it proves too great a tax upon 
you, or if I should have another attack of ill- 
ness, it will be out of the question; but — who 
knows? — perhaps two or three months will ac- 
complish our purpose. He can pay me what- 
ever he has been paying in Berkeley, less the 
amount of his fare to and fro. We might have 
little Yung Lee again, and Mrs. Howe will be 
glad to rent her extra room. It has a fireplace, 
and will serve for both bedroom and study if 
we add a table and student-lamp." 

" I don't beheve he will come," .said Polly. 
"We are all very well as a diversion, but as a 
constancy we should pall upon him. I never 
could keep up to the level I have been main- 
taining for the last twenty-four hours, that is 
certain. Besides, he will fancy he is going to 
be watched and reported at headquarters in 
Santa Barbara ! " 

" I think very likely you are right ; but per- 
haps I can put the matter so that it will 
strike him in some other light." 

" Very well, Mamacita; I 'm willing. It will 
break up all our nice little two-ing, but we will 
be his guardian angel. I will be his guardian 
and you his angel, and oh ! how he would dis- 
like it if he knew it ! But wait until odious 
Mr. Tony sees him to-night ! (What business is 
it of his if my hair is red!) When he chaffs 
him for breaking his appointment, I dare say 
we shall never see him again." 

" You are so jolly comfortable here ! This 
house is the next best thing to mother," said 
Edgar, with boyish heartiness, as he stood on 
the white goatskin wdth his back to the Oli- 
vers' cheerful fireplace. 

It was Wednesday evening of the next week. 
Polly was clearing away the dinner things, and 



>o6 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Jan. 



Edgar had been arranging Mrs. Oliver's chair 
and pillows and footstool like the gentle young 
knight he was by nature. 

What wonder that all the fellows, even 
" smirking Tony," liked him and sought his 
company? He who could pull an oar, throw 
a ball, leap a bar, ride a horse, or play a game 
of skill as if he had been bom for each 
particular occupation, — what wonder that the 
ne'er-do-wells and idlers and scamps and dull- 
ards battered at his door continually and 
begged him to leave his books and come out 
and " stir up things " ! 

" If you think it is so 'jolly,' " said Mrs. Oli- 
ver, " how would you like to come here and 
live with us a while ? " 

This was a bombshell. The boy hesitated 
naturally, being taken quite by surprise. (" Con- 
found it ! " he thought rapidly, " how shall I 
get out of this scrape without being impolite ! 
They would n't give me one night out a week 
if I came ! ") '• I 'd like it immensely, you know," 
he said aloud, " and it 's awfully kind of you 
to propose it, and I appreciate it, but I don't 
think — I don't see, that is — how I could come, 
Mrs. Oliver. In the first place, I 'ra quite sure 
my home people would dislike my intruding on 
your privacy; and then, — well, you know I am 
out in the evening occasionally, and should n't 
like to disturb you ; besides, I 'm sure Miss Polly 
has her hands full now." 

" Of course you would be often out in the 
evening, though I don't suppose- you are a 
' midnight reveler ' exactly. You would simply 
have a latch-key, and go out and come in as 
you like. Mrs. Howe's room is ver}- pleasant, 
as you know; and you could study there before 
your open fire, and join us when you felt like 
it. Is it as convenient and pleasant for you to 
live on this side of the bay, and go back and 
forth ? " 

" Oh, yes ! I don't mind that part of it." 
("This is worse than the Inquisition; I don't 
know but that she will get me in spite of ever)'- 
thingl") 

(" Oh, dear ! " thought Mrs. Oliver. " he does n't 
want to come; and I don't want him to come, 
and I must urge him to come, against his will. 
How very disagreeable missionary work is, to 
be sure! I sympathize with him, too. He is 



afraid of petticoat government, and fears that 
he will lose some of his precious liberty.") 

" Besides, dear Mrs. Oliver," continued Ed- 
gar, after an awkward pause, '' I don't think 
you are strong enough to have me here. I 
believe you 're only proposing it for my 
good. You know that I 'm in a forlorn stu- 
dents' boarding-house, and you are an.\ious 
to give me ' all the comforts of a home ' for 
my blessed mother's sake, regardless of your 
own discomforts." 

" Come here a moment and sit beside me on 
Polly's hassock. You were nearly three years 
old when Polly was bom. You were all stay- 
ing with me that summer. Did you know that 
you were my first boarders ? You were a tiny 
fellow in kilts, very much interested in the 
new baby, and very anxious to hold her. I can 
see you now rocking the cradle as gravely as a 
man. Polly has hard times and many sorrows 
before her, Edgar I You are man enough to see 
that I cannot stay with her much longer." 

Edgar was too awed and too greatly moved 
to answer. 

" I should be very glad to have you with us, 
both because I think we could in some degree 
take the place of your mother and Margery, 
and because I should be glad to feel that in any 
sudden emergency (which I do not in the least 
expect) we should have a near friend to lean 
upon ever so little." 

Edgar's whole heart went out in a burst of 
S}Tnpathy and manly tenderness. In that mo- 
ment he felt Anlling to give up every personal 
pleasure, if he might lift a feather's weight of 
care from the fragile woman who spoke to him 
with such sweetness and trust. For there is 
nothing hopeless save meanness and poverty of 
nature; and any demand on Edgar Noble's 
instinct of chivalrous protection would never be 
discounted. 

"I will come gladly — gladly, Mrs. Oliver," 
he said, " if only I can be of service ; though I 
fear it will be all the other way. Please bor- 
row me for a son, just to keep me in training, 
and I '11 try to bear my honors worthily." 

"Thank you, dear boy. Then it is settled, if 
you are sure that the living in the city will not 
interfere with your studies ; that is the main 
thing. We all look to you to add fresh laurels 



'893] 



POLLY OLIVKRS PROBLEM. 



jo: 



to your old ones. Are you satisfied with your 
college life thus far?" 

(" They have n't toKl her anything. 'I'hat 's 
good," thought Edgar.) " Oh, yes; fairly well ! 
I don't — I d(.)n't go in for being a 'dig,' Mrs. 
Oliver. I shall never be the valeilictorian, and 
all that sort of thing ; it does n't pay. Who ever 
hears of valedictorians twenty years after gradu- 
ation ? Class honors don't amount to much." 

" I suppose they can be overestimated ; but 
they must prove some sort of excellence which 
will stand one in good stead in after years. I 
should never advise a boy or girl to work for 
honors alone ; but if, after doing one's very 
best, the honors come naturally, they are very 
pleasant." 

'* Half the best scholars in our class are 
prigs," said Edgar, discontentedly. " Always 
down on the live fellows who want any sport. 
Sometimes I wish I had never gone to college, 
at all. Unless you deny yourself every bit of 
pleasure, and live the life of a hermit, you can't 
take any rank. My father expects me to get a 
hundred and one per cent, in every study, and 
thinks I ought to rise with the lark and go to 
bed with the chickens. I don't know whether 
he ever sowed any wild oats ; if he did, it was 
so long ago that he has quite forgotten I must 
sow mine some time. He ought to be thankful 
they are such a harmless sort." 

" I don't understand boys very well," said 
Mrs. Oliver, smilingly. " You see, I never 
have had any to study. You must teach me 
a few things. Now, about this matter of wild 
oats. Why is it so necessary that they should 
be sown ? Is Margery sowing hers ? " 

" I don't know that they are necessities," 

(To be continued.) 



laughed Edgar, coloring. " Perhaps they are 
only luxuries." 

Mrs. Oliver looked at the fire soberly. "1 
know there may be plenty of fine men who 
have a discreditable youth to look back upon — 
a youth finally repented of and atoned for: but 
that is rather a weary process, I should think, 
and they are surely no stronger men becausf of 
the 'wild oats,' but rather /// spite of them." 

" I suppose so," sighed Edgar; "but it 's so 
easy for women to be good! I know you were 
born a saint, to begin with. You don't know 
what it is to be in college, and to want to do 
everything that you can't and ought n't, and 
nothing that you can and should, and get 
all tangled up in things you never meant to 
touch. However, we '11 see ! " 

Polly peeped in at the door very softly, " They 
have n't any light; that 's favorable. He 's 
sitting on my hassock; he need n't suppose 
he is going to have that place ! I think she has 
her hand on his arm — yes, she has! Very 
well, then; it is settled. I '11 go back and put 
the salt fish in soak for my boarder's break- 
fast. I seem to have my hands rather full! 
A house to keep, an invalid mother, and now 
a boarder, — the very thing I vowed that I 
never would have, another boarder, — what 
grandmama would have called an 'unstiddy,' 
boy boarder!" 

And as Polly clattered the pots and pans, the 
young heathen in the parlor might have heard 
her fresh voice singing with great energy : 

Shall we, whose souls are lighted 
With wisdom from on high, — 
Shall we to men benighted 
The lamp of light deny ? 




A SUGGESTION TO TEACHERS. 



If teachers mean by examination 
To show the scholars' information, 
Why do they carefully seek out 
Such dilticult things to ask about ? 

These are the questions, as a rule, 
The teachers ask us in our school : 
What "s the time in the Congo State 
When Persian clocks are striking eight ? " 
Halve the square of seventy-three, 
And what will a tenth of sixteen be ? " 
What was the reason Charlemagne 
Sent his great-grandaunt to Spain ? " 
Explain what came of the Gothic war, 
And what the Turks were fighting for 
When Venice conquered Charles Martel, 
And ancient Constantinople fell." 
Name the products of Peru, 
And all the rulers of Timbuctoo." 
Point out the errors in the words, 
Green cheeses ain't not made of curds;' 
Him was not the friend of he;' 
He had n't ought to written me.' " 



Now, for instance, we '11 suppose; 

They wish to show what a fellow knows : 

Then they '11 be glad of a few suggestions 

As to a set of useful questions. 

What did one Columbus do 

In October, 1492 ?" 

Will some bright scholar kindly say 

Which is 'Independence Day'?" 

What little girl will be so candid 

As to tell us when the pilgrims landed ? " 

The war of 181 2, my dear. 

Was fought in what particular year?" 

Kindly tell us, if you will. 

What nations fought at Bunker Hill?" 

Who cut down a cherry-tree. 

And helped to make a nation free ? " 

Name a certain English queen 

Who still upon her throne is seen." 

If teachers only had the tact 
To hit upon the proper fact. 
Recitations then would be 
More creditable to them and me. 

T. J. 



THE WANDERING MINSTREL. 



What ho, within! Good honest folk, 
Here 's one will sing you ballads quaint 
As carven shapes of fiend and saint 

That deck your beams of blackened oak. 

What ho, mine host ! Here 's one at last 
Who comes to solace all your guests 
With merry songs, that made their nests 

Among the gables of the Past. 

The minstrel's face is ruddy brown, 
And like a viol's cheek doth shine ; 
His mirthful eyes, as bright as wine. 

Have seen full many a famous town. 

And when he plays, the pleasant sound 
Hath such a kind and wondrous power 
You think you smell the wine in flower, 

Although the snow be on the ground. 

Then let him in ; he knows the way 
To sweeten loaf and brighten fire ; 
He sings of crested knight and squire, 



Of lovely dame and friendly fay; 

Of turbaned Paynims dark and fierce, 
Of elfin circles emerald green. 
Of blades by wizard art made keen, 

And shields no mortal dart could pierce. 

And though your coin must pay his j)ains, 
Not all for gold he plies his art, 
But holiday is in his heart 

E'en while he stands and counts his gains. 

To him should every door unbar 
At Christmas-tide ; for then he sings 
Old chansons of the three wise Kings, 

Of Orient, and the mystic Star. 

Noel! Noel!'' the carol rings 

Through cold blue night, afar, afar. 
And bears, to cots where shepherds are, 

\\'hite thoughts, that throng on angel-wings. 

Margaret Hainiltou. 



308 




ivi 



THE WANDERING MINSTREL. 

ICNCiRAVED IIY S. G. PITNAM, l-ROM A I'AINTING BY I.OIIS LKI OIR, nv IMCRMISRION OF THK MHTKOl'OI.lTAN MISEIM OF AKT. 

Vol.. XX. — 14. 209 




By 



v-^ ^XT^"^^ Marion Hii.l 




The "Scavenger" had gone to bed; but, as 
we knew from experience, far from being asleep, 
she was Ustening to every word of our con- 
versation, and was storing it in her memory 
with the intention of quoting it at some future 
time to our discomfiture. 

She was only twelve years old, and, being 
the youngest, was doomed to run the family 
errands. Though she rebelled each time she 
was asked to go anywhere, yet in her heart she 
gloried in any chance to scour the neighbor- 
hood and find out whatever was new or inter- 
esting. In her innocent babyhood she had been 
christened Lillian, but when, as a growing child, 
tucks were let out, and she began to depend 
upon old iron, bottles, and the contents of the 
rag-bag as the chief sources of her income, and 
consequently was forced to collect the articles 
of her trade with much unscrupulousness and 
energy, we bestowed upon her that eminently 
more descriptive title, "The Scavenger." 

By this time you have learned that we were 
poor. Mother was down-stairs sewing, and sup- 
posed that we four girls had gone to bed ; but 
three of us sat before the dying fire and be- 
moaned our poverty. We were Vivian, Clara, 
and Nan. I am Nan, the eldest of the sisters. 
Vivian and I have no nicknames, but Clara is 
called "Here," short for Hercules, — a well-won 
honor bestowed upon her in recognition of her 
prowess in such feats as lifting the kitchen stove, 
moving the bookcase, or beating carpets. 

" To be poor is hard, at any time," sighefl 
she, " but it is doubly hard at Christmas. Here 



it is the middle of December, and we have not 
a dollar among us." 

" My heart aches for mother," said Vivian 
" She is fretting herself ill over the bills." 

"I should Hke to scalp the butcher!" mur- 
mured Here, in serious meditation. 

An odd sound from the bed, a half strangled 
sob, caused us to look at each other in surprise. 

" What is the matter, darling ? " asked Vivian, 
going over to the bed and trying unsuccessfully 
to lift from the Scavenger's face the bedclothes 
which were dragged o\er her features and 
clutched fiercely from beneath. " Tell your 
Vivian what troubles you, dear." 

After being adjured several times, the grief- 
stricken one raised a comer of the bedclothes 
and sobbed forth in a roar of woe : 

" Mother is sick I and all because she has no 
money. Yesterday I went into her room for 
some pins, and I found her on her knees by 
the bedside, crying and praying, — praying in 
the daytime ! Ow-w ! " and the long-drawn sob 
betrayed that in the last statement she fancied 
her recital had reached its acme of distress. 

" Don't cry, litde girl ; don't cry. Things 
may grow brighter by and by," said Vivian, 
soothingly, l)ut her own voice trembled. In 
fact, the sudden tears also started to Clara's 
eyes and to mine as we guessed at the suffering 
our little mother had so bravely kept from us. 

Vivian brushed the damp hair from the child's 
forehead, and petted her into a more resigned 
frame of mind. When she found out after a 
while that the much-comforted Scavenger was 



A RANDOM SHOT. 



21 1 



sol)bing merely for her own private enjoyment, 
and reveling in the way the bed shook with 
each convulsive throe, Vivian came back to her 
old seat by the lire, and asked : 

" Is there fio way in whic h we girls could 
make a little money and help mother along? 
Is there nothing:; we can do ?" 

*' We have not an accomplishment in tlie 
world," I said, a little bitterly. 

"■ Here might give music-lessons ! " said a 
voice from the bed, with a sobbing cackle of 
dismal mirth. 

The sting of this suggestion lay in the fact 
that Clara (than whom no one had less ear for 
music) in moments of dejection was given to 
twanking viciously on an old banjo, which she 
played with so little melody and so much energy 
as to drive the rest of us to distraction. 

Here broke into an amiable burst of laugh- 
ter, then sank back immediately into her former 
state of depression. 

Vivian sighed wearily, and fell into a reverie 
that must have been far sadder than we others 
could guess. 

Two years before she had been engaged to be 
married to a young man who was so affection- 
ate, so boyish, so full of fun that he soon won 
mother's heart as completely as he had won 
Vivian's. As for us girls, we simply adored him. 

" Brother Bob," for so we soon learned to 
call him, was summoned to England just three 
months before the day set for the wedding, to 
take possession of a fortune which had been left 
him unexpectedly. And then came the sad, 
sad news that on the vessel's return trip he w^as 
drowned. 

After that news everything went wrong with 
us. We had to give up our Philadelphia home 
and move to San Francisco, expecting in a 
vague way to do better; but we were disap- 
pointed, and only by severest economy were we 
enabled to keep a roof over us. Poverty is a 
skeleton that may be kept decently in his closet 
until Christmas-time ; then he comes forth and 
rattles his bones under one's very nose. 

Indeed, the prospect was so dismal that it 
actually prevented us three tired girls from 
going to bed. We sat around the grate, look- 
ing intently at the fire, as if trying to wrest a 
helpful suggestion from the fast-dropping ashes. 



'I'his second silence had lasted fully ten min- 
utes, when it was again cheered by a speech 
from the beil. 

" See here," said the muffled voice. " I have 
a splendid idea, but 1 am afraid you — you 
//////i,'-i- will laugh at me if you don't like it." 

" Why, Lil, of course we won't ! " said Vivian, 
reproachfully. 

Thus encouraged, the flushed and blinking 
Scavenger struggled into a kneeling position and 
addressed us with dignity. 

'' You know our old washerwoman, Biddy 
Conelly ? " 

Of course we did, and said so. 

" You know the paper-cake-and-boot-button- 
shop she keeps ? " 

" Well ? " 

" Biddy is laid up with rheumatism, and the 
shop is shut." 

''Welir' 

" Well ! " defiantly, as the crisis grew nearer, 
" why can't we keep the shop until Biddy grows 
better, and make a kind of Christmas place of 
it with cornucopias, and Christmas-tree things, 
and have lots of fun, and earn lots of money ? " 

vSilence reigned. Breathless and astounded, 
we could only look at each other. 

Then what a gabble of tongues I what a 
deluge of fors and againsts ! what a torrent of 
questions and answers ! w-hat a delicious flavor 
of romance ! what a contagious excitement and 
freshness there was about the whole plan ! 

" Shopkeepers ? Delightful idea ! We might 
be able to pay all the bills and buy mother a 
new dress ! " said Vivian. 

" I shall be able to keep my rag-money all for 
myself, and I '11 buy a l)icycle," said the san- 
guine originator of the plan. 

" Let us go to bed and gain the strength 
needed to unroll the project before mother in 
the morning," concluded I, with wisdom. 

Well, we carried our point. Mother at first 
would not consent; but the gentleman who 
rented our front parlor spoke loudly on our side 
by deserting the premises without having paid 
his last month's bill ; and we used this deplora- 
ble incident to such advantage that mother fin- 
ally gave in. 

Two of us rushed at once to Biddy's, and had 
an entirely satisfactory interview with her. Not 



2 I 2 



A RANDOM SHOT. 



[Jan. 



/// '!l;n 



only did she refuse to charge us rent for the 
shop and stock on hand, but she lent us a little 
money that we might lay in goods of an es- 
sentially holiday nature. 

There was much to be done before we could 
throw open our establishment to an indulgent 
jiublic. At home mother and Vivian worked 
untiringly — mother crocheting and knitting, 
Vivian dressing dolls and painting little pic- 
tures for our show-window. At the store, Lil, 
Clara, and I were equally busy, and afforded 
Biddy, who lived in rooms above, 
much pleasing excitement. 

Clara, especially, merited much 
praise. Slender and girlish as 
she was in figure, she performed 
many manly feats, especially in 
the way of carpentr}- ; and when 
it came to cleaning, the rest of 
us were nowhere beside her. 

" Cleanliness is the thief of 
time," she panted; " but it 's the 
only way to be healthy, wealthy, 
and wise." 

As we intended to be " shop- 
keepers " for two weeks only, 
and, moreover, as we were such 
comparative strangers in the city 
that we had no arrogant ac- 
quaintances to shock, the day 
on which we opened our little 
store found us four of the most 
expectant, most excited, happiest 
girls in the world. 

Oh, you must hear a short de- 
scription of our dear shop ! It was 
on Third street, almost an hour's 
ride from our house. It had only 
one show-window, and was a bak- 
ery, a confectioner's, and a station- 
er's, all rolled into one. But our 
chief pride was in our Christmas goods and tree 
ornaments. We considered our assortment of 
dolls and our stock of tin toys unrivaled ; and 
we reached our crowning holiday effect by means 
of wreaths and ropes of fragrant evergreen. 

At the back, opening out of the store, was 
a small room; and before its bright fire we sat 
and chatted whenever we were off duty. We 
made fun of everything and everybody ; we 



roared at the poorest jokes ; we were in a 
touch-and-go state of good humor from morn- 
ing till night. Indeed, we look back upon 
those days as the merriest of our lives. 

Our first customer ! The words send a thrill 
through me even now. We fought so for the 
honor of first standing behind the counter 
(before the arrival of any buyer, of course), 
that we finally drew lots for it ; and the Scaven- 
ger won. She made us retire into the back 
room, and closed the door ; then she triumph- 




"OfR FIRST CUSTOMER." 

antly mounted guard alone. The bell tinkled ! 
A child came in ! We three in exile pressed 
our faces to the curtained glass door, and breath- 
lessly watched the proceedings. Child pointed 
to a tin horse; Lil handed it to him; child 
nodded ; handed it back ; said something ; Lil 
wrap])ed horse in paper ; gave it again to child ; 
child took laboriously a coin from his stufted 
pocket; laid it on counter; child went out. 



1893. 



A KAN DOM SHOT, 



213 



Siiiuiltaiicously \vc burst into the shop and 
cried: " Let us see it ! Show us the money ! " 

" First blood for me ! " shrieked the Scav- 
enger, dashing a ten-cent piece into the till. 

Vivian, who was bookkeeper, entered the ten 
cents amid frenzied rejoicings. Soon after her 
first sale, Lil shoved her head into the sitting- 
room and observed with a quiet chuckle: 

*' I say, Vivian, a young man was just stray- 
ing past, and caught sight of your paintings; 
and they were so bad they made him ill." 

" They did n't," cried Clara, indignantly. 

" Did, too. He gave one look and tlun 
reeled, positively reeled away." 

Vivian was so used to having her pictures ridi- 
culed that she merely smiled and said nothing. 

Late in the afternoon Lillian and I were on 
duty together. We were very tired, all of us, 
for we had had an extremely busy day, the 
stream of customers being almost an unbroken 
one. Lest the uninitiated jump to the conclu- 
sion that we were on the high road to fortune, 
the explanation is necessary that very few of 
the purchasers expended more than a dime at 
a time. Often, indeed, the worth of a nickel suf- 
ficed for their modest needs. Often we suffered 
the shock of seeing them go out without having 
bought anything at all. To Lillian and me was 
vouchsafed the glory of having a customer out 
of the ordinary. He came at twilight, just 
before the lights were lit — an elderly-looking, 
heavily bearded gentleman with a gruff voice. 
He glanced sharply at both of us, and then 
said to me in a nervous, rambling way : 

" Er — ah — got any paper ? note-paper ? " 

" Yes, sir ; plenty." 

" Give me — er — five dollars' worth." 

" Five dollars' worth ? " I repeated in amaze- 
ment. 

"Um — yes." 

When the enormous package was at last 
presented to him, he paid for it prompdy, but 
was not yet satisfied. 

" Have you — any, well, er — any nice, first- 
class gold pens ? " he asked again, in his uncer- 
tain fashion. 

As he was looking directly at them, an an- 
swer was unnecessary, so I silently placed the 
tray of pens before him. He took five, at two 
dollars each I tied them up for him, blushing 



holly the while and feeling very much ashamed, 
for 1 had come to the mortifying conclusion 
that he was throwing his money into our till 
from benevolent motives only, and did not really 
need a solitary pen or a single sheet of paper. 

"Nice store — very," he said, gruffly yet aftably, 
catching the Scavenger's glassy and dismayed 
stare. "Am setting up a Christmas tree — will 
want cart-loaits of things. Have got — er — lots 
of children." Here he described with his gloved 
hand an immense arc in the air to illustrate the 
size and number of his children. 

" All will have to have presents. Must go 
now. Will drop in again. Good-by." 

The door closed behind him. Lil and I, after 
an astounded look at each other, rushed into 
the little parlor to tell the girls. 

" A nice sort of customer to have. I wish 
he would come again," said Vivian. 

" He 's going to ; he said so." 

" Was he young or old ? " asked Hercules. 

" Old," said L 

" Young ! " said Lillian. 

" He had a gray beard." 

" Well, the eye part of him was young — real 
young," insisted Lil ; and the subject was dropped. 

When the eventful, delightful day ended we 
ran up-stairs to bid good night to Mrs. Conelly, 

" It 's a foine sthroke o' luck yez been havin'. 
Oi 've sot by this wdndy, and it 's wan hundhred 
and twinty-noine paple oi 've counted thot 's 
gone in an' out o' the sture," she declared. 

" Impossible ! " we cried. 

" Oi 've counted, and Oi know," she main- 
tained stolidly. " Sixty-noine gone in and sixty- 
noine cum out. Wan of thim thot wint in 
did n't go in at all, but kem up here and began 
pumpin' me about yez. Sorra a wurrud did 
Oi give him. Oi only tould him where yez 
lived, phwat yer names was, and how yez kem 
to be kapin' sture. Thin he tould me not to 
mintion him to yez, and not to tell yez whether 
he was a man or woman. An' Oi won't. Yez 
can't dhrag it out o' me." 

"Did he — or she — have a long gray 
beard ? " I asked anxiously. 

" Sorra a hair on his face," she declared; add- 
ing, with a virtuous regard for truth, " barrin' an 
eyebrow or so." 

As we could obtain no further information 



214 



A RANDOM SHOT. 



[Jan. 



from her, we hurried homeward. It was 
charmingly dark, and we felt very independent 
and businesslike at being out at such an un- 
usual hour. 

Mother had a hot supper for us, and whether 
we ate most or talked most, she declared she 
could not tell. 

\\"hen our hunger and e.vcitement were both 
abated, we made the discovery that mother 
had had a little excitement of her own, and 
that she was tr\ing to keep it from us. But 
we pounced ujjon her, like a pack of hyenas, 
with : 

" Now, mother, what is it ? You are a bad 
hand at keeping a secret. Tell us. Out with it ! " 

Between laughing and crying she finally told 
us all — that she had rented the two parlors to 
a very rich old gentleman, who had not only 
given a high price for them, but had positively 
paid three months in advance. She concluded 
by drawing a great bunch of money — real 
greenbacks — from her pocket and fluttering 
them above her head, like little flags. 

Our youngest relieved her feelings in a fan- 
tastic dance. 

The next day at the store was a counterpart 
of the first, except that the reckless buyer did 
not appear. For three days he kept away, but 
he performed prodigies when he did return. 
Vivian, having stayed home with mother, missed 
much of the fun, and had to hear second-hand 
a tale highly complimentary to herself; for the 
old gentleman bought all of her paintings one 
after another, and stuffed them out of sight in 
his immense pockets. They seemed only to 
whet his appetite for more. "I will take — 1 
want — give me that," and he pointed abrui)tly 
and without previous consideration to the most 
gorgeous doll in our collection. 

The poor little doll-loving Scavenger .sighed 
deeply as she beheld her favorite go head first 
into one of those rajiacious pockets, whence the 
paper-covered legs waved her a sad adieu. 

Still unappeased, our customer demanded in 
his hearty way, " Now then, fetch me out Christ- 
mas-tree fixings ; lots, please." 

At this stage of events, Hercules, who was 
waiting upon him, blushed a painful red, and 
said with meek determination ; " No, sir ; I 'd 
rather not ! " 



"Bless my soul! — what 's the matter with 
you ? " demanded he, bluntly. 

Through her desperation Here answered 
honestly : " I don't think you really want any- 
thing you are buying, sir ! " 

He broke into a spasm of gruff", good-natured 
laughter, but growled with evident .sincerity that 
he needed all he had bought and more, and 
would have to go elsewhere if she refused to 
supply him ; and on her showing him what he 
asked for, he jjurchased articles enough to deco- 
rate a banyan-tree, and departed with the prom- 
ise that he would " drop in to-morrow." 

The night before Christmas ! We had paid all 
the bills, we had secretly bought mother and one 
another little presents ; and the dear store which 
had enabled us to do so much was to pass into 
tlie hands of Biddy's cousin, who had come to 
take charge on our departure. 

The delightful nervousness of Christmas Eve 
was upon us all, and we all four were gabbling 
together in the center of the shop, of which we 
were so soon to lose possession. 

"Well, I just love the old man who bought 
such loads of things ! " exclaimed Lillian. " We 
would n't have done half so well but for him." 

"My goodness!" said Clara, "speak of an 
angel and you hear his wings ! " 

His wings made a lot of noise, for he burst in 
with his usual hearty clatter; but, instead of 
dashing to the counter as was his wont, he stood 
looking steadily at Vi\ian, who blushed and 
trembled under his gaze. And then, then — the 
cheery old fellow — what did he do but rush at 
our lovely Vivian and clasp her in his arms ! 
It almost seemed that she had been put into 
one of those pockets, so completely did she dis- 
appear in the overcoat's embrace. 

Before we, an indignant trio, had time to 
remonstrate, Vivian had torn herself away from 
him, and was looking at him less in anger than 
in an undefined terror, that yet was uot terror. 

" Vivian ! My Vivian ! " As his voice rang 
through the room, our ])ul.ses leaped with a 
strange remembrance, and Vivian, almost un- 
conscious with joy, flung herself of her own 
free will into his arms. 

Then what a crazy set we were ! " Brother 
Bob ! " " Dear Bob ! " " Not drowned, but 



1893) 



A RANDOM SHOT 



2 I 



come to liff again 1" \Vc shouted, \vc laughcil, 
we cried ; we all became like raving lunatics in 
our mad happiness. I found myself crying bit- 
terly, all for no reason, over the Scavenger in a 
corner, while s/if was shouting, " Bob ! Bob I 
Bob ! " at intervals, like a demented calliope. 

When we were the least bit calmed, Bob 
sent us into hysterics again by putting his wig 
and beard into his pocket. And then we saw 
the dear remembered face ! 

" My own, my beloved Vivian ! " he cried. 
The glad tears were running down his face 
quite as freely as down ours. 

Vivian said never a word, but clung to Bob's 
arm like one in a dream. How we got into 
the street we never clearly remembered, but I 
know we found ourselves dashing homeward 
at a rousing pace, and all talking together. 
We did n't want to be heard, we only wanted 
to talk. Still we were keenly conscious of Bob's 
narrative. He told us how he lost track of 
us after he was saved from the lost ship, no- 
body seeming to know where we had gone ; 
how, at the end of a two years' search, a faint 
clue had sent him to San Francisco; how he 
had seen in our shop-window Vivian's paint- 
ing of our old Pennsylvania home, and had 
recognized it; how he had learned about us 
from Biddy; and how he had determined to 
mystify us and haunt the " sture " until he 
could get a chance of finding Vivian behind 
the counter. 

" Here we are at home. Don't tell us any 
more," commanded Lil. " Save it for mother." 

On the door-step we formed, in whispers, an 
elaborate scheme for mother's mystification. 
Bob was to stay outside, while we went in and 
made mother believe we had brought a home- 
less waif with us. Then she was to go out, 



and bring him in to the light of her hospi- 
table fireside ; and he was to fall upon his 
knees anil disclose himself — tableau ! Bob as- 
sented with cheerful readiness, and we, after a 
violent ring at the bell, waited in palpitating 
expectation. 

'I'he door opened ; we crowded past mother 
and tried to force her away from the door, while 
we gabbled, " Oh, let us tell you. We knew 
you would n't be angry, and we brought home 
with us a poor, old tramp with no home and 
no — " Here mother gently freed herself, 
poked her dear, pretty head out of doors, and 
said placidly : " Come in. Bob." 

We were petrified. She knew all about it ! 

" Don't try to deceive your poor old mother, 
girls," she said, throwing open the parlor doors, 
and — Well, words fail me. At one end of 
the blazingly lighted room stood an immense 
Christmas tree, dazzling with candles, and bear- 
ing on its drooping branches, besides myriads 
of costly gifts, every single article we had sold 
our " old man." It was like a child's dream of 
a tree. In an arm-chair by the fire sat Biddy 
Conelly, beaming happily upon us like a homely 
old fairy. 

" Then Brother Bob is the ' rich old gentle- 
man' who rented the rooms, and you knew 
it ! " I cried, as light suddenly began to dawn 
upon me. 

Through the blissful but tear-dewed silence 
" came a still voice " : 

" Oi did n't know thot it wor the gintleman 
thot died, but Oi 'm glad Oi held me tongue 
aboud him, or — I ax yez — where would 'a' 
been the surproise of it ? " 

But Here is looking admiringly at mother, 
and gasps at last : " Mama dear, I did n't know 
you could be so underhanded ! " 




r.ATTLE-snn\s axd si':.\-FirxHTs of the ancients. 



Bv I. O. Davidson. 




COMBAT OK liALLEVS. 



To the marine architecl or artist there is no 
more interesting study than that of the growth 
of the modern ship from its earhest forms. An- 
cient shij^s of war and of commerce equally 
interest him; but as he studies the sculptures, 
the coins, and the writings of the ancients, he 
finds that records of war-ships far outnumber 
those of the ships of commerce. 

Among the ancient nations, the Greeks, the 
Romans, and Carthaginians were by far the 
best shijj-builders, and, judging from the de- 
scription of their works, as well as from the 
images upon coins, their craft must have been 
elegant, swift, and seaworthy — more than can 
be said for many of the more showy productions 
of the ship-yards of Britain, France, and Spain 
even so late as the middle ages. 



To the uninformed the statement that some 
of the ancient war-craft were over three hun- 
dred feet in length seems incredible ; for a com- 
parison immediately made between them and 
modern " ocean greyhounds," and a glance at 
such huge ships as the "■ City of Rome " or the 
" Ktruria," would seem to discredit the state- 
ment. Facts are facts, however, and there is 
no doubt that ancient vessels were nearly as 
large as those of to-day. 

There is no question now tliat the ships of 
the ancients made extended voyages urged by 
oars alone, or occasionally, when the wind 
was fair, by sails. A thousand oarsmen (in re- 
lays) were sometimes required to man the 
sweeps, besides a crew of five hundred sail- 
ors and soldiers j and the splendid vision comes 



916 



BATTLE-SHIPS AND SKA-I'ICHTS oF TlIK ANCIENTS. 



217 



before the iniiul's eye of a Heet t)f lliese aiu ienl I'toleiny I'liilopaler, — the "Great Eastern" of 
war-ships moving swiftly along the white villa the East, — propelled by forty banks of oars, 
(lotted shores of Greece or Italy, or majestically 'i'his statement, however, is questioned, for, how- 
sweeping into some mirror-like harbor, ami with e\ cr i)lain the descrii)tions of these old war-shi])S 
flashing oars, waving banners, and irumpc-ts sa- may be, no one has yet shown the precise man- 
luting the setting of the sun. ner in which forty banks of oars were worked. 

The three ancient nations I have named were A bank of oars, according to our modern ideas, 
foremost in maritime enterprise, and the great means a row or line of oars on one deck ; and 
kingdom of Egypt across 
the Mediterranean was 
far behind; not that the 
people of that country 
lacked bravery or the 
spirit of commerce, but 
their religious beliefs 
stood in the way. Their 
priests taught them that 
the sea was a " swal- 
lower of rivers." The 
Nile, that great "mother 
of the land," the giver 
of all blessings, always 
generous, flowed con- 
tinually into the great 
"swallower," which took 
all that was oftered but 
returned nothing save 
monsters and wrecks. To 
so great a degree was 
this silly notion spread 
among the people, that 
almost all foreign in- 
tercourse by way of the 
sea was discouraged. 
Mariners, whether com- 
ing to anchor peaceabl) 
at their doors, or thrown 
in shipwreck on their 
coasts, were alike treat- 
ed with suspicion and 
avoidance, or even cruel- 
ty. Certainly it is not 
strange that to Tyre 

and Sidon, their near neighbors, was left the while there are many pictures and sculptures of 
leadership in commerce and ship-building which galleys, they show nothing more than a trireme, 
has made those two cities famous in history. that is, a ship of three tiers or banks, an arrange- 

We are able to make from old records very ment which, however uncomfortable for the men 
fair models of the war- ships of the ancients. One whose duty or fate it was to handle the top 
writer describes the heptareme used by Pyrrhus, bank of oars, is readily recognized as a pos- 
king of Epirus, and also the great galley of sibility. But how a ship of forty banks of oars, 




GALLEYS IN ACTION. 



2l8 



BATTLE-SHIPS AND SEA-FIGHTS OF THE ANCIENTS. 



[J AN. 



or even of ten, was arranged, puzzles our im- hope that at some future time new (or rather, old) 
agination. light upon this subject may in like manner dis- 

John Chamock, a very able writer upon close the arrangement of the forty banks. The 
marine architecture, in the year 1800 sub- finding of the mummy of Pharaoh Rameses II. 
mitted a theory which ingeniously supposes 
the word " bank " to have meant a group of 
oars, or the men who worked them ; and he 
gives the restoration of a war-ship of the first 
class, constructed in a manner plainly show- 
ing how there could be room for three tiers of 
oars on each side, in groups of five, on a ship 
the size of Ptolemy's, which was four hundred 
and eighty feet long, fifty-seven feet wide, eighty 
feet high at the stern, was steered by four oars 
each forty-five feet in length, and carried a 
crew of " 4000 rowers, and 400 other persons 
necessary to navigate the ship." However mar- 
velous the statement regarding such a craft 





nOLKMY S SHIP. 







-.>-in/Vki«ikyJ£L 
WW \\ \\ 




in its desert tomb quite recently,* explains, by 
its inscriptions, several historical mysteries ; and 
the discovery of the almost entire hull of one 
of the Viking ships of the Norsemen, in a bur- 
ial mound near Christiania, encourages us still 
further in our hope. Furthermore, when it is 
found by measurements that in shape and size 
the Viking ship is almost identical with that 
latest triumph of the naval architect, the " Volun- 
teer," we can rest assured that, when discovered. 



PVKRHIS S GAl.LEV. 



managed by oars under the forty-bank arrange- 
ment, it is reduced, under Mr. Chamock's theory, 
to a possibility, and so far as the size of the 
ship is concerned, to a question merely of the 
desires and means of the builders. Mr. Car- 
tault, the author of an interesting work on the 
subject, writing of the arrangement of oars on 
these great vessels, declares that no theories 
can quite agree with the positive statements of 
ancient writers; so that at the present day we 
are still as much in the dark concerning this very 
interesting problem as we are concerning the 
manner in which the pyramids of Egypt were 

built. Discoveries are being constantly made, the explanation of the forty banks of oars will 
however, that clear up quite as obscure points be as convincing and natural as the problem 
in history, and we have therefore good reason to is now puzzling. 

• Now in the Boulak Museum. 




1893. 



BArrLK-SIlIlS AND SKA- l-IGll i'S oK '11 IK A XC IK NTS. 



219 



The voyages of ihc aiKicnl ships were often 
long, — for example, that of the Goths from 
Sicily in the Mediterranean around to the coast 
of Holland ; and, if the writers of the middle 
ages considered the statements of such deeds to 
be fabulous, they must have formed their judg- 
ment more from lack of similar ability in their 
own vessels than anything else. Compare the 
length and speedy lines of one of the old galleys, 
and their beautiful proportions, with the tower- 
like, Chinese-pagoda style of naval architec- 
ture of the middle ages. A mere glance at the 
picture of the '' Great Harry," or of some of 
the famous ships of the Spanish Armada, will 
show the difference ; but when a comparison is 
made of the seas for which the two styles of 
ships were constructed, we may not smile at the 
builders of those towering, melon-sided old war- 
riors any more than at the seemingly im- 
probable voyages of the ancients. The blue 
Mediterranean was not the rough Bay of Biscay, 
or the turbulent North Sea, or the Channel at 
Dover ; and while the Great Harry or " San- 
tissima Trinidad," built for the high choppy 
seas of the North, might easily have been out- 
stripped in a \oyage on the inland sea by 
Ptolemy's ship with its thousand oarsmen, yet 
we can hardly doubt that the galley, with its 
great length and small width, would soon have 
been racked or twisted to pieces in the rougher 
Northern waters. Both styles of craft were de- 
signed for the waters they were to know, and 
the ancients, with their many seaports, w^here 
they could shelter at night or in stormy weather, 
might work their way along coasts and amid 
shoals and currents where even a modern steam- 
frigate would be at a disadvantage. The Duke 
of Northumberland made a voyage to India 
by way of the Cape of Good Hope, in 1594, in 
a " galuzabra," which was but a modernized 
form of galley. 

And those old-time shipwrights, in spite of 
the generally accepted belief that sheathing was 
an invention of the middle ages, were well 
acquainted with various methods of sheathing 
the bottom of a ship, not alone for preserva- 
tion, but for freer progress through the water. 
It is recorded that hardened hides were firmly 
nailed to ships' bottoms, and we are also told 
that " when the remains of Trajan's galley were 
raised from Lake Riccio, where it had lain for 



over thirteen iiundred years, the pine and cypress 
of which it was built had endured, and were 








■''*;*?sS^ 



TYFE OF VENETIAN GALI.EV. 



then in so sound a state as to be nearly in- 
credible." " The bottom was, according to the 
modem and easily comprehended scientific term, 
' doubled,' the seams had evidently been calked 
with linen, and the whole exterior part was care- 
fully smeared or paid with a coat of Greek 
pitch, over which was brought an exterior coat- 
ing, or what now is called a ' sheathing,' formed 
of lead rolled or beaten to a proper thinness 




and closely attached to the bottom by a suffi- 
cient number of small copper nails." 

The modern constructor must remember that 
the early ships were likewise good carriers ; else 
how could the obelisk now at Rome, which once 



220 



BATTLE-SHIPS AND SEA-FIGHTS OF THE ANXIENTS. 



(Jan. 



Stood before the temple of the sun at HeliopoHs, 
have been removed from the Nile to the Tiber ? 
It is 115 feet in length, and weighs not less than 
1500 tons. 

How the great English war-ship " Harry 
Grace h Dieu " could ever have stood upright 
under such a mass of lofty cabins and top- 
hamper as she is pictured with is a marvel ; the 
drawing * of her bow alone, shown upon this 
page, indicates but little stability. Nor do the 




" HARRV GRACE A DIEU." 

bows of several more of the large ships of that 
age show any more seaworthiness. 

The Greek and the Roman galleys when com- 
I)ared with the ships of the middle ages show- 
not only greater stability but fitness for many 
uses besides that of merely cutting the water. 
In one we find at the water's edge a sheaf of 
twelve huge swords or prongs for tearing an 
enemy at the water-line, while above are two 
iron spear-headed rams to be run out violently 
by a concealed crew, and shaped either to 
smash in bulwarks, or to hook on to or cut 
the enemy's rigging. From the platform above 
archers could discharge their arrows, or repel 
boarders. 

Other war-galleys were provided with cata- 
jjults, from which great masses of stone or 
marble shot were hurled upon tlie enemy's ship 
or amid his rowers. Some of the larger ships 
carried great cranes, which, being lowered to 
an opposing ship, lifted with great grappling- 
" Taken from a print engraved d 



irons her bow or stem high enough in air to 
render her helpless for attack or defense. These 
machines, called " corvi," were invented by the 
famous engineer Archimedes, and were used by 
him with terrible elitect at the siege of Syracuse, 
where the attacking galleys, according to Plu- 
tarch, advancing too close to the walls, were 
speared or grappled with great iron prongs, and 
after being lifted from the water by the ends 
were swayed to and fro, whirled in mid-air, and 
dashed to fragments against the rocks. 

Though we may doubt the saying that " there 
is nothing new under the sun," we certainly 
find naval architecture repeating itself, for our 
modern men-of-war are abandoning the open 
fighting-tops at their mastheads, and using the 
round basket-shaped fighting-towers which ap- 
pear so often in old designs of Roman ships, 
especially of the time of Julius Caesar — in which 
we also discover a prow, ram, or beak so closely 
resembling those of the " Chicago," "Atlanta," 
and '' Maine," that we might accuse the later 
designers of plagiarism. One has a bow the 
exact counterpart of the British ironclads "Lord 
Warden " and " Royal Oak," now in the Royal 
Navy. 

What a grand sight it must have been when 
two great fleets of old war-ships bore down 
upon each other for battle — their bulging 
sails dyed in blue, red, or purple, or embroi- 
dered in gold and silver stripes and emblems ; 
some divided in scjuares of colors like a checker- 
board, or strewn with stars, suns, or gigantic 
figures of gods or beasts or eagles. How the 
thousands of oars, painted in all colors of the 
rainbow, must have dazzled the eye as they 
flashed in the sunlight ! 

As the lines of battle draw together, and 
the lighter galleys, acting as skirmishers, come 
within striking distance of the wings, they dash 
forward at racing stroke, and after discharging 
flights of arrows, which fly across the heavens 
like streams of locusts, retreat again. The 
larger ones now come on, and, as the hail of 
arrows increases, the creak and groan of the 
great catapults are heard as they are wound 
up and drawn back to fire ; and above the jar 
of their discharge is now and then heard the 
rush and the crash of the rocks and stone shot 
uring the existence of the vessel. 



1893. 



BATTI.E-SllIPS AND SKA-1- KJllTS OK TIIK ANCIENTS. 



221 



they let drive. Some are throwing masses of red- 
hot iron, which burst throughOpposing decks and 
set them on fire. Huge hulks now single out 
and grapple with one another, and lie side by 
side for the boarders to work. Cranes swing 
over the enemy's decks, and great caldrons 
suspended at their ends are upset, and pour 
cascades of living fue upon the decks and amid 
the frantic oarsmen.* What a picture! Anil 



arise. The least-injured and swiftest skirmishers 
ilash off in pursuit of the flying, while others 
gather beside some foundering vessel mortally 
rammed in the fight. In the distance one of 
the largest galleys is a roaring mass of flames, 
her oar-ports spouting hundreds of jets of flame, 
her black smoke a bending column against the 
setting of the sun. 

As night falls over the scene, and tlie stars 



as the smoke lowers over the scene, the smaller come out, the victors draw together and sail for 



home, where their captives, if rich, are ran- 
somed, if poor, are sold as slaves or chained as 



galleys take advantage of its obscurity, and dash 
against their larger opponents, sweeping off 
whole rows of oars, 
biting and rending 
with their grappling- 
hooks, tearing down 
whole sections of bul- 
warks, and cutting 
away supporting rig- 
ging until the sway- v 
ing masts come hurt- 
ling down with their 
yards, sails, and burn- 
ing caldrons in a cas- 
cade of ruin and fire. 
A ship thus partly dis- 
abled is ready for 
boarding, and the sec- 
ond stage of the battle 
is begun. Platforms 
are lowered to her 
decks, and the soldiers 
cross in a charge, while 
large baskets filled with 
armed sailors are run 
to the ends of the cranes 

in place of the caldrons and lowered swiftly to rowers to their galley-benches, and the cap- 
assist the charging soldiers. It rains men in tured craft, if too damaged for use, are deprived 
place of fire, and surrender or ruin ensues, of their bows to grace a triumphal march, or 

And now the unconquered ships, like great to adorn some temple of war or public build- 
wounded centipeds, with coundess oars waving ing, as we may see in the Stairway of the Gal- 
and straining, slowly back from out the press leys which was constructed before Hamilcar's 
to refit or retreat, while packs of smaller ones palace at Carthage. 

follow, like bandogs after a wounded bull, to The naval battles of those days were batdes 
worry and annoy. of Titans afloat. The struggles were of neces- 

The smoke slowly drifts away, disclosing a sity hand to hand, in comparison with which 
scene of ruin and triumph. The defeated ones modern naval engagements, where a few shots 
are fleeing in all directions. Trumpets blare from long-range guns decide the issue in as 
forth the news of victory, and triumphant shouts many minutes, sink into insignificance. 
* A large proportion of the rowers were slaves chained to the seats. 




HAMILCAR S "STAIRWAY OF THE GALLEYS. 



FORTUNE'S SMILE. 




'now that I 'VE SPENT A GOOD DEAL OF MONEY IN PITTING VV MV ESTABLISHMENT, I WILL WAIT 
V.ITH THE HOPE THAT FORTUNE WILL SMILE IPON ME." 




All now! thai 's it — ONI.V WHKN I SAV THKEK PI.KASK SMII.F. PLEASANTLY. ONE — TWO ■ 

222 



I'D RT INK S SMlI.i; 



223 







>c^-.'$m-^ 






'^fe^?^/' 




,J"'^r- 



" WHAT A FOOI. I WAS TO MENTION THAT SMILE I " 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



By William C). Stoddard. 




"ferocious figures were now darting hither and thither among the trees." 



[Begytn in ilu November 7tumber.\ 

Chapter IV. 

A FIGHT IN THE FOREST. 

The sharp, quick bark of an excited dog was 
followed by the loud neigh of a horse, the 
sonorous brays of mules, and then ])y the clear, 
musical baying of hounds. 

"They 've started something, sir," said Bob. 
" I hope we may get it. Hear 'em, Sir Frederick ! " 

" I 'd like some fresh meat," remarked the 
baronet, as he wheeled his horse in the direc- 
tion of the baying. 

He looked well on horseback, for he was a 
large, muscular man, and a good horseman. 
His broad, resolute face was cleanly shaven, 
his light hair was short, he wore a palm-leaf 
hat ; and he had an air of being carefully well- 
dressed in spite of circumstances. 

As for Bob, he was a horseman of another 



kind. He was short, and thin, and bow-legged, 
and he seemed to be made of old saddle-leather. 
He wore leather gaiters up to his knees, one 
leather belt around his waist, and another over 
his shoulder. He wore a leather cap on his 
head, and he carried an all-leather whip in his 
hand. 

The cries of the hounds ceased, just as Sir 
Frederick caught a glimpse of a wagon-tilt, and 
of the long ears of the mules. 

" Marsh," he shouted, " what are the dogs 
after ? " 

" Dunno, sir," came dejectedly from the lips 
of a long, lank man, who rode at the side of 
the six-mule team. " I think likely it 's an- 
other sell, sir." 

" I 'm afraid it is," replied Sir Frederick. " I 
never saw such a country. No game, no any- 
thing ! I Ml try for some fish." 

'■ I 'm glad there 's water, sir," groaned 



rm-: white cave. 



225 



Marsh. •' Not a ilrop since yesterilay tor iIk- 
mules and horses, sir. The young gentlemen 
too, sir. It 's awful, sir ! " 

"They '11 be found," replied Sir Frederick. 
"We are going into camj) over yonder. Uoh 
will show you." 

" See the dogs, sir ! There they come," said 
Marsh, as mournfully as ever. " Ikit it 's only 
another sell, sir." 

Two more mounted men came cantering 
toward them, preceded by a tall, shaggy, 
woolly, lean dog, that barked at every third or 
fourth jump, and followed by a brace of fine 
deer-hounds that were now silent. 

"• Brand ! Keets ! " shouted Sir Frederick. 
" What was it ? " 

" Brand, he says it was a monkey, sir. Keets 
thought it was a bear, sir — " 

" Nothing in the worruld but a sloth," sighed 
Marsh. 

"Oh," said Sir Frederick, "the dogs have 
opened after a koala and he has got away ! 
We can't chase game of that sort to-day. We '11 
catch some fish." 

" There 's water, then ? " exclaimed Brand. 

" Water ? " echoed Keets. " Hurrah ! " 

Sir Frederick rode away toward the spot 
selected for the camp, directing Brand to bring 
him his fishing-tackle at once. 

" It 's all the same, anyhow," said Marsh, as 
Brand returned from groping in the back part 
of the wagon. " Some folk calls 'em mon- 
keys, and some calls 'em bears, or sloths, or 
koalas, and they is n't much of anything. I 'm 
'fraid the young gentlemen 's hungry enough, 
though, by this time, to eat possums and rats." 

" The blackfellows eat them," said Keets. 

" I do hope Sir Frederick will get some fish," 
Marsh went on. " Leddy Parry and Miss Helen 
is tired of bacon. They '11 come up, right 
soon — " 

Another bray of the mules interrupted him, 
and nobody seemed to notice that the dogs 
were still uneasy, especially the long-legged, 
woolly barker they spoke to as " Yip." 

At that very moment, nevertheless, some- 
thing not altogether unlike a monkey, but not 
at all like a bear, was returning toward them 
along the trail the dogs had abandoned. That 
trail had run out, or they might not so quickly 
Vol. XX.— 15. 



have left it. At least, it had appeared to run 
against the roots of a tree, and had suddenly 
ilisappeared. It had really gone up the tree, 
and deer-hounds never climb. Neither could 
any ordinary white man or boy have made his 
way up the rugged side of that huge, gnarled 
trunk. Perhaps even the supposed monkey, or 
bear, or sloth, or koala could hardly have 
done so, but for the aid of a stick that he car- 
ried. It was about a foot and a half in length, 
fire-hardened and sharp at one end, and it 
helped him wonderfully in taking advantage 
of projections and of dents in the bark of the 
tree. He began to climb as soon as he heard 
the dogs, and in half a minute he was away 
up among the branches. Then, altogether like 
a monkey, or a bear, or a very active sloth, he 
clambered swiftly along one of the branches that 
overlapped a bough of another tree, and so he 
passed on into a new hiding-place. He was in 
his fifth tree when the hounds had reached the 
end of their trail, at his first tree, and he was in 
a hollow that hid him entirely. He was of 
about the size of a boy of fourteen, very black, 
woolly-headed, not so very bad-looking in the 
face, and he seemed to enjoy the fun of peering 
down upon the baffled dogs and hunters. He 
evidently regarded them all as his enemies; and 
so, perhaps, they were, for they were all foreign- 
ers, and he was a native — a pure-blooded young 
Australian, among his own forests, and now 
hiding in a fork of one of his own blue-gum 
trees. 

The black boy in the tree hollow had with 
him four sticks. One was the sharp stick he 
had climbed with. Another was a club-stick or 
small-sized " waddy." Besides these he had a 
short, thin-stemmed spear, and a queer, notched 
bit of wood which belonged to the spear, for it 
was a " throw-stick " with which to sling the 
spear, instead of casting it with the hand. 

There he sat, quite patiently, until Keets 
and Brand rode away, followed by the dogs. 
He knew, now, part of the meaning of the coo- 
ee-e-ing he had heard, but he did not know it 
all, and he at once came down to the ground 
and began a search after more knowledge. It 
led him stealthily from cover to cover, until he 
caught a glimpse of the tilted wagon and the 
mules. Then his curiosity took hold of him 



226 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Jan. 



with double strength. It drew him along the 
ground, under the protection of the grass and 
bushes and undergrowth, to the edge of the 
stream. He had reached a jjlace some distance 
below the spot where Bob McCracken had 
already kindled a rousing fire, and near to 
which the now unhampered mules had hauled 
the wagon. He did not dare to get any nearer, 
but his black eyes gleamed and sparkled, and 
he moved his feet and hands as if he felt like 
dancing uj)on all of them. 

His eyes and not his lips asked questions, 
but he seemed almost ready to yell with won- 
der at the appearance of Lady Maude Parry 
and her niece. They were such wonderful spe- 
cimens of the great white race, and they were 
so wonderfully dressed. If, however, he were 
considering whether or not a black boy could 
get near enough to that camp to pick up any- 
thing good and carr}^ it away, that question was 
answered for him by the dogs. Every man in 
the camp had said in some form : 

" Yip, what is the matter with you ? Do you 
smell game again ? " 

Sir Frederick still stood upon the rock, and 
he was fishing successfully, but his face was 
clouded. 

" Where can those boys be?" he said to him- 
self. " I 'm glad there are no blackfellows left 
in these parts. Ned and Hugh are in no danger 
of being speared." 

Just then a sorrowful voice behind him ex- 
claimed : 

" Oh, Fred ! Why did we ever come out into 
this wilderness ? " 

" My dear," replied Sir Frederick, as he 
landed a fish, " it was as much your idea as 
It was mine. We are not lost at all. Hugh will 
turn up — and Ned. Why, Helen 1 have you 
been crying ? " 

" Yes, she has," said her aunt. " I wanted 
to cry, myself, when I heard them all coo-ee-e 
so without any answer." 

" I wish the boys were here." 

" It seems to me as if they could not be far 
away," remarked Lady Parry, thoughtfully, and 
she was right. 

Only a few miles from the spot where they 
were standing, Hugh was at that very moment 
saying to Ned : 



" We must leave those blackfellows as far 
behind us as we can. We 've got to make a 
chance to cook some of our kangaroo-meat.' 

" I wish the blackfellows were about starved," 
said Ned, " so they 'd have to stop and do 
some cooking for themselves. They 're tre- 
mendous eaters." 

" We '11 push right along," said Hugh ; but 
if he could have looked through the trees and 
have seen the five other savages, who arose 
from the grass, join their scout, he would have 
tried to push on faster. 

Each of them carried, in addition to his col- 
lection of ordinary spears and sticks, one stick 
more, to show that he was not out upon a 
peaceful errand. It was a carved and orna- 
mented piece of wood, about six inches wide in 
the middle, tapering to the ends, and about two 
and a half feet long. It was a club, but it had 
a handle in the middle, for it was also used as 
a war-shield. 

Their antics and their fierce exclamations 
over the scout's discoveries plainly expressed 
their unbounded surprise as well as the rage 
that seized them at the presence of white men. 
Only a minute or so went by before the tall, 
muscular, big-headed savage who had thrown 
the first boomerang at the kangaroos, pointed 
at the spot on the prairie where his game still 
lay, and uttered some harsh, ragged-sounding 
words of command, for he was the chief of that 
party. Then he pointed to the ground under 
his feet, and at the trail left by the horses. The 
other blacks went for the game, and he himself 
set out at once to follow the trail. At the mo- 
ment, therefore, when Ned and Hugh were dis- 
cussing that matter, the danger they dreaded 
was coming after them, as fast, or even faster, 
than their tired and thirsty horses were takmg 
them away from it. They were making further 
remarks about the cruelty, treachery, stupidity, 
and other evil qualities of Australian black-men. 
and were picking their way among some thick, 
high bushes, when they heard a strange, vibrat- 
ing cry at some distance behind them. It 
seemed as if it brought their hearts into their 
mouths, it was so fierce and threatening. 

" Hold on ! " exclaimed Ned. " Let 's dis- 
mount. We can hide right here. Something 's 
coming. Get ready ! " 



i893 



IIIK W II I'll-: CAVE. 



2 2 7 



" 1 'm ready," saitl Hugh, as they both sprang 
to the ground, " 1 don't mean to let an\ man 
spear me lor nothing." 

They were hidden by pretty good cover, for 
the rank bush-growth rose liigher than their 
horses' heails. 

Again the cry soundeil ; ami now, as they 
peeretl eagerly back, along their own trail, they 
caught a glimpse of a tall savage gliding for- 
ward among the trees, and seeming to bristle 
with spears and sticks and war-shield. 

" He 's after us!" whispered Hugh. 

" Of course he is," replied Ned ; " but what 
on earth is he stopping for ? " 

" He 's listening," said Hugh. 

" Hear him ! " exclaimed Ned. " That yell 
of his sounded like a crow's caw." 

" There ! " responded Hugh. " See that ! 
He dodged it ! See him parry those spears ! 
Where do they come from ? " 

" There are more blackfellows ! They are 
his enemies, and they are attacking him," re- 
plied Ned. " See ! " 

" Ka-kak-kia ! " yelled the tall warrior, as he 
skilfully struck aside the missiles which came 
whizzing at him. " Ka-kak-kia ! " 

The whoop with which he accompanied his 
defiant utterance was terrific. He had shouted 
his own warrior name, with evidently no small 
degree of pride, precisely as if, instead of an 
Australian, he had been an American savage, 
an Apache or a Sioux. 

The skill and quickness he exhibited were 
wonderful, for not a spear nor a stick hit him, 
and he was all the while retreating swiftly from 
tree to tree. He was followed in a similar 
manner by about a dozen black-men, very 
much like himself, whose discordant shouts 
rang through the forest. 

Ka-kak-kia was compelled to keep his face 
all the while toward his noisy enemies, and he 
was continually threatening them with his long, 
slender spear, but he did not throw it. As he 
shook it at them, it trembled and vibrated, and 
so did the spears of the warriors opposed to him. 

" Why don't they surround him ? " said Hugh. 

" They don't know how many other fellows 
of his tribe they might find in their way, if they 
should try," suggested Ned. " He does n't 
know just where we are, and I guess they don't 




know anything about us, or some of them 
would be coming this way." 

" 'I'hen," said Hugh, "we might as well lie 
low, and let him draw them off." 

'Ihere was very good sense in that; and so 
it ha|)i)ened that the two lost boys, in their 
perilous ambush, were watching a complex con- 
flict in native .Vustralian warfare. 

ClIAPJIiK V. 
A CAVE IN A TREE-TOP. 

There were already 
many anxious fore- 
bodings among the 
members of Sir Fred- 
erick Parry's picnic 
party in their river- 
side camp, and they 
were destined to fur- 
ther anxiety. 
" \ ip ! \ !i> : \\[) '. " suddenly rang out again. 
The racket now made by the long-legged, 
woolly dog sounded very much as if he were 
calling his own name, while he dashed in and 
out among the bushes. 

" What can be the matter with him ? " ex- 
claimed Lady Parry, as she paused in pouring 
out a cup of coffee. " He is surely hunting for 
something. He may have found a trace of 
Hugh or Ned ! " 

A chorus of louder exclamations from the 
men responded to her, but none of them were 
on account of Hugh or Ned. At that ver}- 
moment the black boy in the bushes was sud- 
denly impelled to dart for the nearest tree and 
climb it, leaving all his sticks at the foot of it, 
for Yip had discovered him and, indeed, had 
barely missed preventing his climb. 

In an instant more, the whole camp rang 
with shouts of men, cries of hounds, the bra}ing 
of mules, and there was a frantic " Yip ! Yip ! 
Yip ! " all around the roots of the short, stunted 
sapling, in the fork of which the young savage 
had perched. 

" Blackfellows ! " was the first, half breath- 
less remark of Sir Frederick. " Who 'd have 
dreamed of it ! Now, indeed, we may say we 
are in trouble ! " 

" Hugh ! Hugh ! Hugh ! " exclaimed Lady 



22< 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



Parry. " My boy ! Lost in the woods, among 
the cannibals ! " 

"Oh, Aunt Maude! Poor Hugh!" mourned 
Helen Gordon. "And poor Ned Wentworth ! " 

" It 's bad luck," said Bob McCracken. 
" But we '11 get that one." 

The black boy did not wish to be caught, 
but he had been imprudent. He had stared 
too long at that wonderful camp, and at that 
mysterious, brilliant dinner-table. 

There was no such possibility left him as 
climbing into another tree from the one he was 
in, and there were the dogs ; and then came the 
white men, shouting to him to come down. He 
could understand their motions, if not their 
words, and down he came, but that was all the 
good it did them. Not one word of English 
could they get out of him, not even after they 
had fed him with broiled fish and fried bacon. 
His big black eyes continued to dance from 
one to another of them, and at the dogs and 
the weapons, and other matters. He did speak, 
more than once, but what he said was all in his 
own strange, monotonous tongue. 

" It 's all gibberish," remarked Bob Mc- 
Cracken ; " but where there 's one of those fel- 
lows, you may be sure there are more of 'em 
not far away. We '11 all be speared, if we don't 
luk out, and then we '11 all be ate up. It 's 
the hard death to die, is that." 

Sir Frederick himself was as keenly alarmed 
concerning savages as was any member of his 
party, but he said nothing. He hardly an- 
swered his wife, at first, when she spoke about 
Hugh and his peril. He was so silent, after he 
gave up questioning the black boy, that she 
almost lost patience with him. 

" Frederick I " she exclaimed. '• Why don't 
you say something. What shall we do ? " 

" Do ? " he responded. " What are we to 
do ? That is precisely what puzzles me ! " 

He meant that what they needed most was 
information ; for the small captive savage was a 
very plain and direct suggestion of the nearness 
of parties of grown-up savages, just such as 
those which Hugh and Ned were at that hour 
trying to evade. Both parties of blacks were 



about six miles distant from the camp, although 
as yet they did not seem to know it. 

As for Ned and Hugh, they were about as far 
away, and they were going farther at every step; 
but they had succeeded in putting only a mile 
and a half or so between them and the cabbage- 
palm prairie, where the kangaroos had fallen 
under the boomerangs of Ka-kak-kia and the 
other skilful thrower. 

The boys felt very sure that they had es- 
caped being actually seen by the chief, or by 
any of his party, or by the enemies who were 
now pitching spears at him with their throw- 
sticks. 

" Hugh," whispered Ned, as he cowered in 
the bushes, " oh ! but can't he dodge ? " 

The tall black man was indeed dodging 
and parr)-ing wonderfully well. His eyes were 
quick, his nerves were steady, his courage was 
dauntless ; but then his foes were increasing in 
number. Fully a dozen ferocious figures were 
now darting hither and thither among the trees, 
throwing, or threatening to throw, their long 
javelins. They were all yelling almost inces- 
santly, but one of them changed suddenly into 
a shrill whoop that sounded like a warning to 
the rest. Then he dropped to the ground. A 
spear hurled by an unseen hand had gone 
through his left shoulder. 

A sudden cry of triumph burst from the 
lips of Ka-kak-kia. He felt as if he were 
rescued, for that spear told him he had drawn 
his enemies along until his friends had heard 
the noise and had come to help him. 

The fight had really only just begun, to be 
sure, but now the first onset had for the mo- 
ment ended. 

" It was the cleverest thing I ever saw ! " 
exclaimed Hugh, as he crouched watchfully 
under his bush. 

" I 'd heard how they did it," said Ned ; 
" but you or I 'd have been stuck full of spears 
in no time. That 's just what 'II happen to us 
yet, if they find out we 're here." 

" Let 's push along," saiti Hugh. " 1 did n't 
dare to move hand or foot till now." 



( To be continued. ) 




cj:.3£.C'E 



y...m 




17 w 



WHEN WE GET ROUND THE FIRE AT NIGHT. 



By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 



When we get round the fire at night, 
We three, while Clrandma knits and knits, 

The big wood-fire 's our only light, — 
The comer 's dark where Grandma sits. 

But then her needles gleam and click, 
And then we hear the great clock tick 

Louder than when the sun shines bright. 

And my I but Grandma tells us tales. 
You ought to hear her! — about a boat 

That came one night — it had no sails, 
Nor anything — right in our bay! 

And there 's another 'bout the day 
Gran'father lost his wedding coat ! 



And Joey, when he keeps awake. 
Is always asking her to tell 

About the wolves that tried to break 
Into the old school-house one time, 

And then the Dominie had to climb 
'Way up outside and ring the bell ! 

But when the other tales are done. 
Then it is Cicely's great delight 

To hear about the little son 

Who went to sea. — We always say 

It 's better 'n any time o' day. 

When we get round the fire at night 



THE COLUMBIAN NAVAL PARADE. 




Bv Danikl Judson. 



IROBABLY few of those who 
witnessed the great naval 
parade given by the State of 
New York in honor of Cokim- 
bus will ever forget that bril- 
liant marine pageant. 

The gathering of the ships 
was not by the order of the 
Government ; in fact, the war-ships did not 
receive permission to take jiart until a day 
or two before. There was little preparation. 
There was simply an idea among those who live 
.upon the water, that since the school-children, 
and college students, and soldiers were to pa- 
rade on land, the ships also should do some- 
thing in honor of the event. 

How they all gathered together at such short 
notice, fell into line, and moved promptly in one 
grand column, was a marvel ; but there they were 
in perfect order, a great fleet covering the bay, 
expressing their joy, in ship-fashion, with fly- 
ing flags, shrieking whistles, and booming guns. 
At nine o'clock in the morning, the war-ships 
could be seen lifting anchors, and quietly droj^- 
ping down the harbor to Gravesend Bay. At 
eleven, they had all assembled there. The 
French frigate, "Arethuse"; the Spanish ship, 
"Infanta Isabella"; the Italian, "Giovanni 
Bausan " ; our vessels, the " Dolphin," the " Mian- 
tonomoh,"and the " Philadelphia"; the torpedo- 
boat " Gushing," the air-gun boat " Vesuvius," 
the revenue cutter " Grant," the " Blake," and 
scores of pleasure boats were in readiness. 

At a signal the war-ships formed in column, 
with the Naval Reserve fleet of tugboats in 
advance, and all moved toward the Narrows. 
Then upon the right came a flash and a heavy 
boom, succeeded by a cloud of smoke from a 
monster gun at Fort Hamilton. Then followed 
another, and another, until the entire shore was 
draped in a fleecy mantle of smoke. It was 
the opening salute. Across the bay, Fort Rich- 
mond joined in, and between the two walls of 



smoke thus formed, the fleet entered and passed 
for a while out of sight, just as in a battle. 

Opposite the Statue of Liberty a great num- 
l)cr of tugs, river-steamers, and yachts fell in 
bcliind the leaders, while whistles blew, guns 
roared, and Battery William sent forth a wel- 
come from its big old-fashioned cannon. Thus 
the procession moved on, and from out the 
bank of smoke the Statue of Liberty appeared 
once more upon her lofty i)edestal, calmly gaz- 
ing out to sea. 

The house-tops, wharves, and Battery Park 
now came into view, completely packed with 
multitudes of people, whose cheers came to the 
ear like the buzzing of many hives of bees. 
And here a mighty shout went up, as the fire- 
boat " New Yorker " set its pumps in motion, 
and threw aloft a gigantic column of water. 
Up, up it mounted, higher and higher, until its 
plume was four hundred feet in air; then, bend- 
ing, it made a graceful curve, and was carried 
away in a shower of spray by the western wind. 
Soon the other fire-boats joined in the exhibi- 
tion with their water-jets, and other boats took 
up the sport, until a dozen streams w-ere com- 
mingled in a great watery bouquet, glinting and 
glistening in the afternoon sun, displaying beau- 
tiful rainbow tints and fantastic shadows. 

The Hudson was crowded from bank to 
bank with steam and sailing craft, all heading 
for General Grant's tomb at Riverside Park. A 
heavy mist hung over the waters from the 
smoke, through which the onrushing ships 
looked gray and ghostly. The crowded thou- 
sands on the shores seemed like patches of ants. 

Then a signal-gun was fired from the leading 
ship, which had reached her goal. A hundred 
anchors plunged to the bottom, a hundred guns 
broke forth in a grand salute, thousands of gay 
flags mounted to their mastheads, as many 
whistles united in an ear-splitting shriek which 
lasted for ten minutes, and the great naval 
parade was over. 



232 



JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



[Jan. 




L J: 



\ JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT. 



A Happy New Year to you one and all, my 
beloved ! And a good honest year, and a busy 
year, for that matter — a year of good, healthy 
work and play, with gratitude and kindness atop 
and below. This is my greeting unto you. 

Now for business. We '11 begin with 

HUMPTY-DUMPTY IN THE FAR EAST. 

HaMTI-Damti chargya chhutt ! 
Hamti-Damti girgya phut ! 
Rajah Ki-pulton Ranee Ki-ghoree 
Hamti Kubbee nalim joiee ! 

*' That 's how we sing * Humpty-Dumpty' in the 
East, when we are small," writes one Rudyard 
Kipling, a right warm friend of yours, in a letter 
to this very pulpit. So you see there are merry 
rhymes and sweet little nonsense verses all over the 
world, and the far East is not so very far away, after 
all. How can it be a strange country to you when 
once you know that Humpty-Dumpty is cutting up 
antics there, and you have every reason to believe 
that cows are jumping over moons, and wondrous 
wise men are disporting about bramble- bushes in 
true Mother Goose fashion ! 

By the way, somewhere in this very month of 
St. Nicholas, I am told, you youngest folk are to 
have, or may already have had, a rare talc told to 
you, in the original Kipling, by the very friend 
who sent you the Hamti-Damti. What wonder 
you all look so good-natured ! 

A LONG FENCE. 

The wall of China is said to be over a thousand 
miles long, and a good strong wall it is, for it is de- 
signed to hold the country and to keep out enemies. 
But have you heard of the delicate fence of close 
wire netting, five hundred miles long, between the 
Australia Colonies and New South Wales and 



Queensland ? It, too, is designed to keep out in- 
truders, and very troublesome intruders they are — 
these furry, innocent-looking little creatures that 
frisk about Australia, take possession of the soil, 
and rear their families on the best vegetation they 
can find. They seem to consider the country as a 
vast free hotel, opened for their especial benefit : 
but they are a calamity to the landlord, and very 
large rewards for their total destruction have been 
offered by the Australian government. 

A GYMNASTIC GOLDFISH. 

Di:ar Jack : I once had five little goldfish, which I 
kept in a large glass globe on a velvet-covered shelf 
under a mirror. 

One of these, " Goldy " by name, was fond of music, 
but he had his preferences. When we played the violin, 
he would get as far away as possible and show his dis- 
like very plainly. Ilis favorite was the zither. When 
it wa:i being played, he would push himself as close to 
the glass and as near to the instrument as he could get, 
and there he would lie perfectly still until the music 
ceased. We noticed this many times. Once I was prac- 
tising, and only a minute before had been watching 
Goldy's intent expression, when I heard a great splash 
and the musically-inclined but too enthusiastic fish lay 
flapping on tlie floor till rescued. 

For some time he continued to thrive, but one day, I 
remember, I was carrying him up-stairs, when he sud- 
denly gave a great bound out of the water, struck the 
banisters, and went flying downward. So I rushed after 
him and with difficulty got him back to the globe; but 
tliat was the beginning of the end. From that hour music 
no more had charms for the poor little fish, the violin 
failed to arouse his anger, the zither to soothe him, and, 
after several days of listlessness, one morning I found 
his poor little body floating on the water. I never could 
have such another, so the globe was laid in a dusty corner 
and I have now only my dear old zither to remind me of 
music-loving Goldy. 

A. L. E. 

THE HIGH-MINDED HARE. 

When the picture your Jack show-s you to-day 
came to this pulpit, I said to myself, " Ah, at last 
the young folk have a picture that tells its own 
story. It 's as plain as day. A hare and the tor- 
toise are to run a race. The other hare is to be 
umpire, because, as there 's no ring, the umpire 
must be able to keep up with the race. The first 
hare being a high-minded little fellow, familiar 
with all the hare-and-tortoise fables, pro and con, 
has said to the tortoise, " Here, my lumbering 
friend, I 'm sure to beat you if I run ; and I 'm 
not one to play on the wayside or take a doze and 
let you win by accident. This is how we will 
manage it. I '11 go on your back, and when we 
near the goal, I '11 haunch myself as far back 
on your dainty shell as I can. Then it 's nip and 
tuck whose nose touches tlie stake first. VV'hcn wc 
come within four feet of it, you hustle and I '11 
jump." 

So far the picture was plain enough, but just 
then it occurred to the dear Little Schoolnia'am 
that she might as well read me Mr. Bc;ird's letter 
and learn how /w ended the fable. Imagine my 
surprise. There was no fable at all, — only solid 
facts, and those the very best of their kind. You 
shall have it now, my beloved, word for word : 



1 893-1 



JACK-IN-TIIE- PULPIT. 



THE GALAPAGOS TORTOISES. 

Dkar Jack-in-the-Pulpit: At Central Park in 
New York city may be seen a liappy family, tlie like of 
which, possibly, cannot i)e met anywliere else in the 
world. It consists of a number of frisky vounjj hares and 
the slowest and most ancient-looking ol" tortoises. The 
tortoises, however, are not as old as they ajjpear ; when 
grown to their full si/.e they will weij^h hundreds of 
pounds apiece, ;unl be quite able to carry men upon their 
l)acks. The tortoises are part o( a nund)cr brouyhl from 
the l!ala])aj;os Islands, several years ago, to the Natural 
History Museum at Washington. These islands, forni- 
mg a small archiiK-lago in tiie Pacific t^cean, are very 
remarkable in many respects, but in none more so, ]ier- 
haps, than in having been the home of races of giant 
tortoises of which the specimens at Central Park aie a 
remnant. Commoilore Porter, who visited the (Jalapa- 
gos Islands about eighty years ago, saw such droves of 
these tortoises that he says a man might have walked a 
considerable distance on their backs without descending 
to the ground. He saw specimens five feet long, four 
and a half feet wide, and measuring three feet thick 
through the body. He was impressed not only with 
their size, but with their strange shape. They had 
long necks and flat, serpent-like heads, and long legs 
(for turtles) upon which they stood with the body a 
full foot from the ground. Though keen of siglit, these 
tortoises are quite deaf, the loudest noise failing to startle 
them ; but in their wild state they are so timid that 
the sight of a man makes them scuttle off in ponderous 
haste. Sometimes, however, as Mr. Darwin says, the 
instant they perceive any one, they draw in their legs 



and head, and uttering a deep hiss fall to the ground 
with a heavy thud, as if struck dead. " I frequently," he 
says, "got u|)on their backs, and upon giving a few raps 
upon the hinder part of the shell, they would rise up and 
walk away; but I fouml it very dilTicult to keep iny bal- 
ance." The (lalajiagos tortoise is a thirsty creature: the 
one object of its life seems to be to get enough to drink. 
In the smaller islands, where there are no springs, the 
tortoises are obliged to content themselves with the suc- 
culent Peruvian cactus and (jtiier juicy plants; but in the 
larger ones they travel long distances to the s])riiigs 
which occur in the more elevated central ])arts. l-rom 
every part of the sea-coast broad, well-beaten paths, 
originally made by tortoises, converge to the interior 
and lead to the watering-places. Travelers who vis- 
ited the islands when these paths were used by the tor- 
toises tell us how curious it was to see the huge 
creatures, one set eagerly traveling toward the springs 
with oulstretclied necks, and another set returning, 
having "drunk their fill." When a tortoise arrived at 
a spring, quite regardless of the spectator, it buried its 
head in water above the eyes and greedily swallowed 
great mouthfuls at the rate of about ten a minute. 

Although rather clumsy pets, the creatures are entirely 
harmless. The little saucy hares that share quarters 
with them at Central Park play around, about, and all 
over them, as if they were so many great boulders, which 
indeed they somewhat resemble. 

Unfortunately for these Galapagos tortoises, the deli- 
cious flavor of their meat has long been known ; and so 
it happens that through the greed and carelessness of 
mankind they are rapidly disappearing from the face of 
the earth. Yours truly, 

J. Carter Beard. 





cj0?2^60T^ 




'June.' 



HE twelve merry Months once decided to make, 
For the New Year approaching, a wonderful cake, — 
Contributing freely each one, more or less, 
And sharing the pride of the final success. 
September, who through her acquaintance with schools 
\\'as up in the latest grammatical rules, 
Wrote out, in a lovely Spencerian hand, 
A recipe any one might understand. 
November, — as usual, busy and hurried. 
And with her Election-cake specially worried. 
For fear it would burn while her mind was so flurried, — 
From what she had left on her generous hands 
When her Thanksgiving cooking, with all its demands, 
Was finished, the milk and the spices supplied ; 
\Miile April the eggs was o'erjoyed to provide. 
All colored, of course, with indelible dyes — 
" My choicest ! " said April, with tears in her eyes. 
March furnished the sugar, and though I admit 
'T was maple, still that did n't matter a bit. 
lie mixed the cake, too, being sturdy and stout, 
And accustomed to stirring things briskly about. 
The flour was from May, — her particular brand 
(You 've heard of the " mayflower " ? ), and white as her hand. 
Dear June sent the flavoring, — extract of rose. 
The sweetest and purest, as every one knows ; 
And August the butter, in cups of bright gold, 
Which seemed all the sunshine of summer to hold. 
February gave cherries, quite dried up and brown. 



A NEW YEARS CAKK. 

From the tree that (ieorge Washington said he cut down; 
And October dechired, with a hiugh and a frown 
(I'nderstanil, this is slang which 1 do not commend!), 
lliat to vie with his gift she could never pretend, 
'I'hough she, too, had nothing but clustnuts to send I 
July tlid the baking, and skillully, too. 
'T was ilone top and bottom, anil all the way through. 
Her oven was steatly and right to a T. 
January's crisp icing was lovely to see. 
December, quite ready to part with her best. 
Declared, what with stockings and trees and the rest. 
Every thing that she owned she had given away, 
Save a bonbon or two and a bright holly s])ray. 
So these, for adornment, arranged with much taste, 
On the top of the beautiful structure were placed. 
"Feb" dashed ofif a rhyme, — he was quick with his pen 
From writing of valentines now and again. 
And, boxed up with care, and addressed in red ink, 
By the Lightning Express, which is quick as a wink 
(Engaged by July), this delectable cake. 
Whose like I defy any baker to bake. 
Was sent New Year's morning, in triumph and glee, 
From the tw-elve merry Months to their dear Ninety-three. 



235 




THE LITTLE VERSE THAT FILLS UP THE PAGE. 



By Edith M. Thomas. 



I \\ the toddling child at the foot of the page, 
But I sing like a wren or a linnet ! 

All smile when they see me come on the stage ; 
I sing, — and am gone in a minute. 



INANIMATE THINGS ANIMATED. 



Bv ]'. XlUKLI,. 




THK LETTER-BOX. 



IIkrk are three odd bits of verse sent to llic Letlcr- 
Hox l)y Mr, Frank \'alenline. They are called " Rever- 
sible Jingles." 

1. LOHELIA. 

Her name it was Lobelia, 

A winsome flower was she 
Decidedly (in some respects) 
A credit to her aj^e and sex. 

But, oh, her vanity ! 

Her mother, she was soft and mild, 

Well-meaniny, as folks tell, 
For intellect not eminent ; 
But though she very little meant, 

She always meant it well. 

And so in languid tones and low 
Her gentle accents came, 
" Lobelia, be loroUer, 
Be laivlier. Lobelia I 

You really are to blame." 

But oft that gentle mother's words 
Grew somewhat mixed, I ween — 
" Lebowlia, bolelia, 

Bolelia, Lebowlier I 

Vou know, dear, what I mean." 

n. Skaling-wax. 

QroTH he, " I must some letters write^ 

A hundred more or less, sir. 
I want to have them fastened right — 

They shall be sealed up, yes, sir! 
No trifling gum I '11 use, I vum." 

He went — but soon with joy 
Came wheeling sacks of sealing-wax. 

And cried, "See here, my boy!" 

ni. His Letter-Box. 

Said poor Mr. Reece 
To the Chief of Police : 
" Sir, they 've rifled my box of its letters. 
When I left it last night 
It was locked up all right — 
Oh, catch them and put them in fetters." 

Said the Chief of Police 
To poor Mr. Reece: 
" To catch them we 're not at all sure, sir. 
You should get better locks 
For your old letter-box ; 
For prevention is better than cure, sir." 



Fort Sam Houston, 
San Antonio, Tex. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Our fathers are captains in the 
Twenty-third Infantry, and we live next door to each 
other. Each of us has a pet pony and pet cows. 

In reading the interesting stories of your magazine, we 
like the "Rangoon" stories best, and wish you would 
notify Mr. E. Vinton Blake to please write some more. 



We also like "Tom Paulding," and many others of your 
stories. 

We have natatorium parties every Friday in summer. 
There are two ambulances full of people, and the drivers 
generally go different roads and run races to see which 
can get there first. 

There are seven companies of infantry, two troops of 
cavalry, and one battery of light artillery in this post. 

All boys and girls who have not already visited an 
army post, ouglit to do so. It would give any one a 
lesson in neatness. The floors of the barracks, espe- 
cially in the mess-room, are so clean that you could eat 
from them, and the benches and tables are as white as 
snow. We remain your devoted readers, 

Mary P. E . 

Winnie M. P . 



San Francisco, Cal. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: I have been taking you 
now for three years. You were given to me as a Christ- 
mas present by my aunt. I am a girl of fourteen years, 
and I must say that I enjoy " Tom Paulding" very much. 

I live in the West, at San Francisco, California, and I 
have no brothers or sisters, but I find great consolation 
in reading, especially in the pages of your delightful 
magazine. 

The Golden Gate Park of this city is a beautiful sight 
to behold. It possesses a fine conservatory, an observa- 
tory, and many interesting points. The park extends to 
the Pacific Ocean, and we are soon to have a grand boule- 
vard on the beach. There is a fine drive and walk through 
this park to the beach, and my mother and I once walked 
through it. It is a long but pleasant walk. Good-by. 
From your ever faithful reader, 

"The California Girl." 



Redwood, Deep River, Conn. 

Dear St. Nicholas : You have been coming to our 
house fourteen years — since my brother was a baby. I 
am eight, and I am beginning to read you myself, but 
mama reads the letters to me. 

I want to write and tell you about some pets I brought 
from the South — theGulf of Mexico: three little chame- 
leons and two lizards, " rusty ginnies," and two little 
"'gators." The chameleons are sometimes brown and 
sometimes a very bright green. They eat live flies and 
drink water, lapping it up with their little pink tongues, 
like kittens. They like music, too, and when my brother 
plays on his violin they turn their heads and listen in 
such a cunning way. Sometimes I think they are home- 
sick, and I am sorry I brought them away. The baby 
chameleon is " Spooks," tlie other two are " Dr. Jekyll " 
and " Mr. Hyde." Mr. Hyde's tail was cut offby the win- 
dow, and it is growing out again. One lizard's tail was 
broken and we mended it witii court-plaster. Mr. Hyde 
runs away for days, and then comes back so hungry, and 
eats all the flies we will give him. I don't like the rusty 
ginnies as well. Mama says they are too spidery, and 
we don't like to have them crawl about on our hands and 
arms as the others do. I forgot to tell about my alligators, 
"Tom" and "Jerry." They were very homesick after 
we left St. Andrews. Coming through the Dead Lakes 
and up the Appalachicola and Chattahoochee rivers, they 
would not eat, and when we reached Atlanta they had 



^38 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



forgotten how to bite. So niainn thought they were 
going to die ; but every day she would hold their mouths 
open and ]iut a few drops of medicine down llieir throats. 
Did you ever look into a 'gator's mouth? The throat 
seems closed up. Afterward she gave them beeftca,and 
on cold niglils wrapped tht-m in warm blankets and jiut 
them before the grate, and we finally got them here alive. 
Now Jerry is getting too cross ; he bites, and he ate a 
pollywog the olher day. I like the chameleons best. 
George Sheldon S . 



Dear St. Nicholas: Two years ago my brother 
Percy and I came to Londonderry to attend school. 
Our home is in New York. We have the St. Nicholas 
every month, and are always glad to see it. Last sum- 
mer we were at a beautiful sea-coast town spending our va- 
cation \\hh mama, who came from America to surprise us. 
There tliP Mourne Mountains run right down to the sea, 
and tl'.cre is only one street of houses. Many trout- 
streams dash through the place, and we had fun fishing. 
Mama gave us each a little yacht with a cabin in it, 
and they flew over the water very fast. We had grand 
frolics in the surf, which was very fine. The coast-guard 
had a station with a life-boat. There is a framed list 
with the names of all the ships they have rescued : the 



last one was the " Flying Foam," with eleven men on 
board. Golf is the game most liked. 

Ernest H. H . 



IIoHART, Tasmania. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little girl, eleven years 
old, and live in llobart, the capital of Tasmania. Ho- 
bart is only a small town, with grand scenery on all sides. 
From my window I can see the river Derwent, and the 
beautiful hills and mountains as a background. Mount 
Wellington is our largest, and is often covered with 
snow in the winter. 

I like picnicking very much ; we often go to a place 
called Ferntree Bower. I have been up to the springs 
only once, and there is such a beautiful view from 
there. Tasmania is a favorite place for visitors in 
summer. 

I have been staying down at Shipwrights' Point with 
mama, who has been away for her health, and I like stay- 
ing there very much ; wc went out boating every day, 
ami altogether I had a delightful time. 

I have taken you for three years ; this is the fourth 
year, and I like you very, very much. I think that 
" Lady Jane," and the " Ft)rtunes of Toby Trafford," and 
" Chan Ok " are my favorites ; but they are all delight- 
ful. With love, your devoted little reader, 

Irene B . 



I 





CHRISTMAS MORNING. 



THii riddi.l: liox. 



ANSWERS TO PUZZLES IN THE DECEMBER NUMBER. 



Doi'BLK Acrostic. Primals, I^chesis; finals, Eurydice. Cross- 
words: 1. Loose. .*. Adieu. 3. Cater. 4. Henry. 5. Ended. 
6. Sinai. 7. Isaac. 8. Slake. 

The St. Nicholas Pi'zzle. 




1 1 1 r 








^-J 









Bores. 4. 
4. Terse. 

4. Lance. 
Tease. 5. 

5. Elder. 
Mead. 



Cdnnecteb Squares. L 1. Cabal, a. Abonia. 3. 
Anient. 5. I.asts. II. 1. Prate. 2. Raven. 3. Avert 
5. Knier. III. i. Swale. 2. Woman. 3. Amend. 
S. Ender. IV. i. Haste. 2. Ameer. 3. Segar. 4. 
Erred. V. i. Rasse. 2. Avail. 3. Sated. 4. .Siege. 

ZidZAG. "Merry Christmas to all." Cross-words 
2. bKnt. 3. doRy. 4. muoR. 5. flVs. 6. aCme. 7. Hunt 
iRis. 9. omit. 10. pas.S. 11. boTh. 17. eMir. 13. Adze. 14. 
iSlc. 15. saTe. 16. solO. 17. moAt. 18. aLly. 19. Lash. 

WoRD-SQi'ARES. I. I. Stamp. 2. Three. 3. Arras. 4. Meant. 
5. Pests. II. I. Harps. 2. Adore. 3. Robin. 4. Prigs. 5. Sense. 

Primal Acrostic. Primals, Sir Isaac Newton. Cross-words: 
I. Solon. 2. Impel. 3. Range. 4. Iliad. 5. Sixty. 6. Angle. 
7. Annul. 8. Clown. 9. Notal. 10. Eagle. 11. Waste. 12. 
Tabor. 13. Ousel. 14. Nomad. 

Hoi.i.ow St. Andrew's Cross. I. i. V. 2. Pen. 3. Venus. 
4. Nut. 5. S. II. I. S. 2. toe. 3. Sough. 4. Egg. 5. H. 
III. 1. S. 2. Can. 3. Sarah. 4. Nap. 5. H. IV. i. H. 2. 
M.ip. 3. Hades. 4. Peg. 5. S. 

To OUR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the isth of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-bo.\," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Nu.mber were received, before October 15th, from Arthur Gride — Maude E. 

Palmer — Josephine Sherwood — "The McG.'s" — Mama, Katie, and Jamie — -Agnes Richardson and Alice Mildred Blanke Co. 

" Uncle .Mung" — L. O. E. — Jo and I — Helen C. McClcar>' — " Guion Line and Acme Slate Co." — Mabel, Auntie, and Papa — Chester 
B. Sumner — Jessie Chapman — Ida C. Thallon — " Dad and Hill" — " Wareham " — Ida and Alice. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 15th, from Marj- F. Youngs, 1 — E. M. G., 11 

" Hobgoblin and Brownie," i — Prince S., 2 — " Lily Maid of Aslolat," 2 — S. and E. Fowlc, i — Melville Hunnewell. 6 —Paul Reese, 
7 — "Bow-wow and Co.," 3 — Donald Banks Tobey, 3 — Elaine S., i — Gertrude L., 10 — H. H. E., 5 — "Infantry," 11 — Marion A. 
Perkins, 4 — H. F. L., 11 — Blanche and Fred, 10 — Nellie L. Hawes, 11 — Tottie, i — Robert Pratt, 2— Ida Young, 2 — "Three Wise 
Ones," 4 — Margie F., i — Adrienne Forrester, 3 — Dora F. Hereford, 8 — Effie K. Talboys, 8 — Jean B. G., 4 — "Midwood," 10 — 
Agnes W. Bartlett, 3 — " May and '79," 6 — Grace V. Morris, 10 — Sybil Raymond, 1 — Susie W. Wiggins and Uncle and Aunt, 11 — 
Laura M. Zinser, 6 — .Augusta S. Cottlow, i — Rosalie Bloomingdale, 10 — Wilford W. Linsly, 3 — "We Girls," 8 — Agnes C. Leay- 
craft, I — Sadie aiid Mama, 7. 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

All of the words described contain the same number 
of letters. When rightly guessed and placed one below 
another, the initials will all be the same letter, and the 
finals will spell an antagonist. 

Ckoss-worhs: I. A shrewd trick. 2. Profound. 
3, To discontinue. 4. An extinct bird. 5. A "small 
raised platform. 6. A prefix. 7. Power. 8. A small 

coin. A. C. CRETT. 

WORD-BUILDING. 

I. A LETTER. 2. .\ nickname. 3. A snug place of 
retreat. 4. To sever. 5. General tendency. 6. Easily 
impressed. 7. Offers. 8. Inhabitant. 9. .\ high exec- 
utive official. VINA. 
PENTAGONS. 



M^S^Mt^. 



I. I. I.\ microscope. 2. A large serpent. 3. Con- 
tests. 4. A reckoner. 5. Dress. 6. A kind of coarse 
woolen cloth. 7. .\ certain dance. 

II. I. In microscope. 2. A pronoun. 3. A frag- 
ment of an earthen vessel. 4. Fascinated. 5. \ valuable 
fur-bearing animal. 6. Marks. 7. A pulpit. 

When the two longest words in each of the foregoing 
pentagons have been placed side by side, the fourteen 
letters will spell a word meaning destroyed the effect of 
a charm. "JOB peerybi.ngle." 

ZIGZAG. 

All of the words described contain the same num- 
ber of letters. When these are rightly guessed and 
placed one below another, in the order here given, the 



zigzag, beginning at the upper left-hand letter, will spell 
a name by which Virgil is sometimes called. 

Cross-words: i. A disorderly crowd. 2. A cart. 
3. An inclosed place used as a receptacle for any com- 
modity. 4. Consumed. 5. A lovely lady in a famous 
poem by Spenser. 6. The juice of plants. 7. To in- 
voke evil upon. 8. To solicit. 9. Having a pale hue. 
ID. A color. II. Frolicsome amusement. n. 

SYWCOPATIONS. 

The words described are of equal length. When they 
have been syncopated (that is, when they have had one 
letter taken away), and the remaining letters transposed, 
or rearranged, the initial letters will spell the name of a 
great painter who was baptized on January I, 161S. 

I. Syncopate and transpose a sure-footed animal, and 
make an inlaid pattern. 2. Syncopate and transpose a 
bounty, and make one who 
is chosen to see that the rules 
of a game are strictly observed. 
3. Syncopate and transpose 
faultless, and make a clergy- 
man in charge of a parish. 4. 
Syncopate and transpose 
phraseology, and make to 
charge with a crime. 5. 
.Syncopate and transpose 
graceful, and make an envov 
of the pope. 6. Syncopate 
and transpose to sparkle, and 
make one skilled in law. 7. 
Syncopate and transpose en- 
croachments, and make to 
establish. DYCIK. 

CONCEALED WORDS. 

Wh.at objects, common at 
Christmas-time, are concealed 
in the accompanying Christ- 
mas stocking? 




240 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 



TLLI'STRATED IVIT'^TAMORPHOSIS. 




The problem is to change one given word to another 
given word, by altering one letter at a time, each altera- 
tion making a new word, the number of letters being 
always the same, and the letters remaining always in 
the same order. Example: Cliange lamp to fire in 
four moves. Answer : lamp, lame, fame, fare, fire. 

In the accompanying picture, change hens to coop in 
ten moves. Each change is shown in the illustration. 

J. c. B. 
HOLLOW STAR. 



From i to 2, a poem set to music ; from i to 3, peev- 
ish ; from 2 to 3, stranded ; from 4 to 5, to solicit votes ; 
from 4 to 6, burned to a cinder ; from 5 to 6, conquered 
by force of superior power. frank snelling. 



PI. 



I HARE yuo, thibel wen eary, grin tou rouy tralhuge 

Dan somspire os twese : 
I ese het ginclirc shontm halt fwolol tafre, 

Ram-kidlen, twih twangzil tefe. 
Orbeef ym rodo I sandt ot vige yuo ginetreg, 

Sa stiwf oyu deeps gonal, 
Dan haer fara het hesoce tills prategine 

Rouy strill fo cunjod gons. 

CONNECTED SQUARES. 



I. Upper Square: i. One of the United States. 
2. To languish. 3. A large artery. 4. A house for 
entertaining travelers. 5. Precious stones. 

II. Lift-hand Sqiare: i. A masculine name. 
2. A body of water. 3. Springs clear of the ground. 
4. .\ failing in duly. 5. The assault of an army. 

III. KiCHT-HAND Sqi'ARE: I. Relating to the sun. 
2. A tribe of American Indians. 3. Freighted. 4. One 
intrusted with the business of another. 5. Tears. 

IV. Lower Sqitare: i. Conical. 2. A cape with 
a hood, formerly worn by the clergy. 3. Little balls 
of medicine. 4. Striking effect. 5. Desists from labor 
or exertion. " SAMUEL SYDNEY." 



THt DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK. 




> a 



D U! 



■J s 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XX. 



FEBRUARY, 1893 



No. 4. 



COLLAR-WALLAH AND THE POISON-STICK. 



By Rudvard Kipling. 



Most people only know monkeys and their 
manners and customs from the other side of 
a cage : which is just the same thing as if 
you put a horse into an attic with sloping roofs 
and then tried to imagine how he would look 
in a meadow. 

Once upon a time I lived in a monkey 
country, at Simla among the Himalayas, in a 
house built out upon the side of a mountain 
that was full of monkeys. There were two kinds 
of them : the big silver-gray monkey about 



used to pick the flowers in the drive and leave 
their babies for punishment on the top of a 
fence, and sUde up and down the pine-trees and 
make the most awful faces they could, just to 
show that they did not care for people. We 
watched them fight and play and nurse their 
children and swing at the end of the long elas- 
tic branches, and chase each other down the 
almost perpendicular hillside, till we came to 
know them and give them names. They were 
fed once or twice a day, — some of them grew 



three feet high, with a white beard, — people call so tame that they would come into the veranda 



them langurs, — and the "little greeny-brown 
organ-grinder monkeys. We never saw much 
of the big fellows. They kept to the tops of the 
tall pines, and jumped from one tree to another 
without seeming to care where they landed or 
how. But the little ones frolicked from early 
morning till twilight in our front garden and the 
back garden and on the tin roof and round 
all the verandas. They came with their wives 
and their children, — tiny brown puff-balls with 
their hair parted exactly in the middle, so 
young that they tried to pick up things 
with their mouths instead of with their hands, 
and tumbled over on their heads; and they 

Copyright, 1893, by The Centi-ry Co, 
243 



and eat from our knees ; but they always kept 
one anxious eye on the open air behind them. 
Monkeys are sacred beasts in most parts 
of India, in Simla especially ; but our friends 
knew that monkeys are sometimes caught by 
men and trained to ride on goats and to beat 
tambourines, — things no self-respecting mon- 
key would dream of doing. Once a troop of 
trained monkeys came and performed in the 
garden, and the wild monkeys sat about on the 
trees and said the worst things that they could 
think of, and the trained monkeys in their blue- 
and-red petticoats looked at them sorrowfully. 
When the performance was ended, all our friends 

All rights reserved. 



^44 



COLLAR-WALLAH AND THE POISON-STICK. 



[Feb. 



ran away, and I suppose they talked it over 
that night, for they were ver}- cautious, not to 
say rude, next morning, and the babies were put 
at the topmost tops of the pine-trees when the 
mothers and fathers came down to be fed. 

The tamest of our monkeys (we called them 
ours, because they would fight any of the 
tribe or family that came into the garden) was a 
little fellow who had once been civilized. He 
still wore a leather collar round his neck, which 
is a most unusual place for a monkey-collar to 
be. Generally it is put around the waist. We 
called him "Collar-Wallah "(the collar-man), and 
he would eat biscuit from my sister's hand, open- 
ing her fingers one by one. The monkeys were 
our great delight, and we made them show off 
before callers, and drew pictures of them, and 
chased them out of our rooms, and saw as 
much of their ways as they chose to show. We 
never understood when they went to bed, but 
we heard them mewing like cats up in the 
trees; and late at night, coming home from a 
dinner, the flash of our lanterns would disturb 
a nest of them in the darkness. Then there 
would be yells and screeches and cries of, 
" What did you push me out of bed for ? " "I 
did n't : " '■ You did ! " " You 're another ! " 
" Take that ! " and a monkey would come 
crashing through the branches, and sit at the 
bottom of the tree, and shout : " Smarty ! " till 
he was tired. 

One day I found Collar- Wallah bounding 
out of my window with my hair-brushes. He 
left them in the crotch of a tree, and the next 
time I had a fair chance I threw a pine-cone at 
him, and knocked him oflf the end of the fence 
where he was hunting for fleas. Collar-Wallah 
put his head through the pickets, showed all 
his teeth, and called me every ugly name in the 
monkey language and went up the hillside. 
Next morning I saw him hanging head down- 
ward from the gutter above my window, feeling 
into the rooms with his arms for something to 
carry away. That time I did not throw a pine- 
cone, but put some mustard into a piece of 
bread and let him eat it. When it began to 
bum he danced with rage, and that night, just 
before he went to bed, he pushed my looking- 
glass over with his feet, breaking it into splin- 
ters. Kadir Baksh, my servant, said gravely as 



he picked up the pieces : " That monkey is 
angry with you. Sahib." 

I laughed, and said I did not care because I 
was going away in a day or two for a march, 
and Kadir Baksh grinned. Marching is more 
like setting out in search of adventures, as the 
knights used to do, than anything else; and 
whenever I got a chance I used to go on a 
march. The way to do it is this way. You 
take your horse and groom and servant, and 
two or three men to carry provisions, and go 
out for a week or a fortnight, just for the sake 
of walking and riding and seeing. There is no 
country in all the world as beautiful as the 
Himalayas, and my march was going to lead 
me through the loveliest of the mountains. So 
I took my horse (her real name was " Dorothea 
Darbishoff," because she had come into India 
from Russia, but she was called " Dolly Bobs " 
for short, because she shied). And I took her 
groom, a one-eyed man called Dunnee, and 
Kadir Baksh took his umbrella and the little 
bundle of things he wanted, and commanded a 
detachment of two coolies with baskets full of 
tinned things to eat slung over their shoulders 
on bamboo poles, and little " Vixen," my fox-ter- 
rier (who always hoped to catch a monkey 
some day, and never did), took command of us 
all, and we started off" along the road that leads 
to Thibet. There is no other road worth men- 
tioning in that part of the world, and the only 
way of missing it is by stepping off its edge 
and rolling a few thousand feet into the valley. 
In front of us there was nothing but the line of 
the Himalayan snows, that always looks just the 
same, however near you may get to it. Some- 
times we could see the road curling round a 
hillside eight or ten miles ahead, or dipping 
into a valley two or three thousand feet below. 
Sometimes we went through forests where every 
tree was hung with ferns from top to bottom, 
and where the violets and the lilies of the valley 
grew as thick as grass. Sometimes we had to 
climb over a naked shoulder of shaven hill 
where the sun blistered the back of our necks, 
and sometimes we wound along under a clifl" 
of solid black rock, all wrapt in mist and cloud, 
with a thunder-storm roaring in the valley be- 
neath us. At midday we stopped to eat by the 
roadside, and at night we rested in the bare 



■893-1 



COLLAR-WALI.AH AND TlIK TOISON'-STICK. 



245 



i 



houses with notliin^' in llicin except a chair and 
a bedstead that are put up for the accommoda- 
tion of travelers. Ikit it was a most beautiful 
march. Everybody thought so except Dolly 
Bobs, and she did not like meeting in a narrow 
road caravans of sheep, each sheep carrying a 
little leather-tipped sack of borax, coming down 
from Thibet. The big wolf-dogs that guard 
the caravans frightened her. Three or four 
times in a day, too, we would be sure to come 
across a whole tribe of monkeys changing their 
camping-grounds, ami the chattering and bark- 
ing and scuffling upset 
her nerves. We used 
Dolly Bobs for a pack- 
horse at last and tramped 
on our feet twenty miles 
a day, till we reached a 
beautiful valley called 
Kotgarh, where they 
grow opium and corn. 
The next day's march 
I knew would take us 
down three thousand 
feet and up two thou- 
sand, so I halted above 
the valley and looked 
about for a place to sleep 
in for the night. We 
found a Mohammedan 
farmer who said he 
would be happy to lodge 
Dolly Bobs and give me 
what he could to eat. 
So we went up to his 
hut and put Dolly Bobs 
under cover, and soon sat 
down to some boiled kid and 
what they call Mussulman 
bread. Then there was some 
honey and some more bread. My 
host would not eat any of ni)' tin- 
ned things, for he was afraid that 
they might have pork in them, and 
Mohammedans are forbidden to eat 
pork. After supper I wrai)ped myself up 
in a blanket, Kadir Baksh curled up for a 
smoke, and Dunnee came in and sat in a comer 
and smoked his own pipe alone, — for he was a 
low-caste Hindu, — and my host lit his water- 



])ipe, wliich was made of an old blacking-bottle, 

and we began to talk. Then his wife came in, and 

|)ut what was left of the sui)per into a dish, and 

carried it out. I could 

hear Vixen, who was 

sleeping with Dolly 

Bol)s(you must never 

take a dog into a 

Mohammedan 

house — it is 

not goo( 





THE FLASH OF OUR LANTERNS WOULD DISTURB A NEST OF THBM. 

manners), begin to growl and talk monkey, and I 
wondered why Mohammedans, who generally 



246 



COLLAR-WALLAH AND THK PniSON-STICK. 



[Feb. 



make a point of ill-treating every animal that the 
Hindu holds sacred, should feed monkeys. The 
woman came back with the empty dish, saying: 
" I hope they will swell and die I " and I heard 
the monkeys scuffling and chattering over the 
food. The farmer looked at me and said : " I 
should not do this if I were not forced; but 
when the monkey-folk are stronger than you 
are, what can a poor man do ? " 

Then he told me this tale, and I give it as he 
told it. 

" Sahib, I am a poor man — a very poor man. 
It is my fate to come to this country far away 
from my Mohammedan friends." 

Kadir Baksh moved restlessly, and I saw that 
he wanted to say something, so I gave him 
leave to speak. 

" Perhaps," said Kadir Baksh, " he has for- 
gotten something. It is in my mind, Sahib, 
that before this man was a Mohammedan he 
was a Hindu. He is a Mohammedan of the 
first generation, and not one of the old stock. 
Blessed are those that take hold of the faith at 
any time, but the face of this man is the face 
of a Hindu." 

" That is true," said the man ; " I was an 
arain, a gardener, but my father turned Moham- 
medan, and I, his son, with him. Then I went 
away from my Hindu people, and came here 
because my wife has friends in these hills and 
the soil is good. They are all Hindus in this 
volley, but not one of them has ever molested 
me on account of my being a Mohammedan. 
Neither man nor woman, I say, neither man 
nor woman has offered any harm to me or 
mine. But — Sahib, the monkey-folk are very 
wise. I am sure that they knew I had turned 
my back on the old gods of the Hindus. I am 
sure of it." 

The monkeys outside chattered as they swept 
up the last of the supper, and the firmer shook 
his head solemnly. 

" Now listen. Sahib. This spring I planted 
rice for myself and my little ones — good rice 
to eat if Fate allowed me to live so long. My 
back ached as I planted it tuft by tuft in the 
little field yonder, and 1 borrowed a neighbor's 
buffalo to plow the wet furrows. Upon a day, 
while I was planting, there came one of the 
monkey-folk out of the forest there at the top 



of the hill, and he sat upon the boundary-stone 
of my field and made mocking faces at me. 
So I took a clot of mud and threw it at him, 
crying, ' Begone, sinful one ! ' and he went back 
to that forest. But on the next day there came 








- '.^ ■ 




,^St^-t> 



"the next d.w tueke ca.me two of the monkev-people, 
and i threw two clots of mud at them." 

two of the monkey-people, and they sat upon 
my boundary-stone, and I threw two clots of 
mud at them, and they went to my house toge- 
ther, dancing upon their hind legs, and they 
stole all the red peppers that hang upon the 
door." 

" Yes," said the woman, " they stole all the 
red peppers. They were burned in their 
mouths, but they stole them." 

" Upon the next day I took a gn/le/, a jiellet- 
bow, and hid it in the long grass by the side 
of the rice, that the Hindus my neighbors might 
not see what I did, and when those monkey- 
folk came again I hit one in the back with a 
pellet of dried mud. Immediately then they 
went to my house, and while my wife stood 
without to prevent any more stealing of red 
peppers, they burrowed into the thatch just 
above where the Sahib is sitting now, and they 
came through and overturned the milk in the 
pot, putting out the fire. That night I was 
very angry, and I said to myself: 'They think 
that because there are many Hindus in this 



1893] 



COM.AR-WAI.I.AII AND TIIK r< )IS()N-ST1CK. 



247 



valley I shall not dare to kill thcin. () foolisii 
monkey-folk ! ' Hut 1 was the fool. Sahib. 
With my gray beard, / was the fool! in the 
moriiini; I took riee, a year old and firm in the 
grain, and boileil it with milk and sugar, a mess 
for four people, and set it in the corner of the 
field, and said : ' First they shall eat the good 
meat, and then they shall eat the bad, and 1 
will destroy them at one blow ! ' So I hid 
behind a bush, and I saw, not one monkey, 
but a score of them come down from the woods 
and consiiler the matter, and he that had first 
sat upon the boundary-stone and made faces at 
me was, as before, the leader of them all." 

" Rut how couldst thou tell one monkey 
from another at a distance ? " I asked. 

The farmer grunted contemptuously. "Are 
there then /u>o monkeys in these hills," he said, 
'• that wear a leather collar about their neck ? 
About the ?ieck, Sahib, and not about the waist, 
where a monkey's strap should be ? " 

Kadir Baksh kicked with both legs under 
the blanket, and blew out a heavy j)uff of 
tobacco. 

Dunnee, from his corner, winked his one eye 
fifty times. 

"My goodness!" I said, but I did not say it 
quite aloud, and the farmer was so interested in 
his story that he went on without noticing us. 

" Now I am sure. Sahib, that it was the Evil 
One that had put that collar about his neck for 
a reward of great wickedness. They consid- 
ered the rice for a time, tasting it little by little, 
and then he with the collar cried a cry and 
they ate it all up, chattering and dancing about 
the fields. But they had not gratitude in their 
hearts for their good meal — and rice is not 
cheap in the hills this year." 

"They knew. They knew," said his wife, 
quietly. "They knew that we meant evil to- 
ward them. We should have given it as a 
peace-offering. Hanuman, the monkey-god, 
was angry with us. We should have made a 
sacrifice." 

"They showed no gratitude at all," said the 
fanner, raising his voice. "That very evening 
they overset and broke my pipe which I had 
left in the fields, and they stole my wife's silver 
anklets from under the bed. Then I said: 
'The play is played. \Ve will have done with 



this child's game.' So I cooked a mess of 
rice, larger and sweeter than the first, and 
into it 1 put of white arsenic enough to kill 
a hundred bullocks. In the morning I laid 
that good monkey-food once more in the high 
grass, and by my father's beard, Sahib, there 
came out of the forest monkeys and monkeys 
and monkeys, and yet nK)re monkeys, leaping 
and frisking and walking upon their hinder 
legs, and he, the leader of them all, was the 
monkey with the collar! 'I'hey gathered about 
the dish and dipped their hands in and ate 
a little, and spat it out and dipped afresh ; 
neither eating the food nor leaving it alone. 
I, hidden behind the bush, laughei.1 to myself 
and said, 'Softly, softly, () foolish monkey- 
folk! There may not be enough for all, but 
those who eat shall never need ask for a meal 
again!' Then the monkey with the collar sat 
upon the edge of the dish and put his head on 
one side thus, and scratched himself thus, and 
all the others sat about him. They stayed 
still for so long a time as it takes a buffalo 
to plow one furrow in the rice-field. I was 
l)lanting rice in the little field below — beauti- 
ful green rice plants. Ahi! I shall not husk 
any of that rice. 

"Then he with the collar made an oration. 



spoke to his 

might have 

mosque, 

folk went 



In truth. Sahib, he 
companions as it 
been a priest in the 
and those monkey- 
back to the forest, leav- 
ing the rice smoking 
in the dish. In a very 
short time they return- 
ed, and to me, watch- 
ing from behind the 
bush, it was as though 
all the undergrowth 
of the forest was mov- 
ing, for each monkey 
bore in his hands a 
twig, and the collar- 
monkey walked before them all, and his tail 
was high in the air. In truth, he was their 
padishah, Sahib — their general." 

Now, I had been thinking very hard about 
Collar-Wallah, — the Collar-Wallah who ate 
biscuits in our back garden at Simla, and I 




248 



COLLAR-WALLAH AND THE POISON-STICK. 



[Fbb. 



was trying to remember how early in the sum- 
mer he had made his first appearance with 
us. In the language that the farmer was talk- 
ing, the word he used for twig might have 
meant a stone. So I said: "What did they 
bring in their hands? Stones that you throw, 
or twigs that you cut ? " 

"Twigs — little branches with green leaves 
upon them," said the wife. "They know all 
that we do not know of the uses of the green 
herbs in the forest." 

"Sahib, I am a very poor man, but I never 
tell hes. They assembled about that dish of 
milk and rice and they stirred it with the twigs 
till the hot rice spurted over their feet, and they 
yelled with pain. But they stirred it, and they 
stirred it, and they stirred, and they stirred thus." 
The farmer's hand went round in circles about 
a foot from the floor. 

'• Now, when that stirring was accomplished, 
Sahib, and he with the collar had tasted the 
mess again, they threw away the twigs and fell 
upon that rice and milk and ate it all up and 
fought for the last grains, and they were ver}- 
merry and caught fleas one from the other. 
When I saw that they did not die, — that, by 
virtue of that stirring with the twigs, all the 
white arsenic, which should have killed a hun- 
dred bullocks, became good boiled rice and 
milk again, the hair of my head stood up, and 
I said, ' I have not fought against the monkey- 
folk, but against wizards and warlocks.' " 

" Nay," said the wife, almost under her 
breath. " It was against Hanuman that we 
fought, — against Hanuman the monkey god, 
and the old Hindu gods whom we had 
neglected." 

" I ran home very swiftly and told my wife 
these things, and she said I must not stir 
abroad any more for fear of bewitchment by 
these apes. So I lay on my bed and drew the 
blanket about me, and prayed as a Moham- 
medan should pray till the twilight. But woe 
is me I Even while I prayed, those monkey- 
folk worked my ruin. I went out of the house 
at the rising of the moon to milk my cow, and 
I heard a noise of small feet running over wet 
ground, and when the moon rose I saw that 
in the whole of my little field there was not 
one blade of rice remaining. Tuft by tuft, 



Sahib, those monkey-folk had plucked it out ; 
with their teeth and their hands they had bit- 
ten and torn every tuft, and thrown them all 
about the hillside as a child throws a broken 
necklace I Of my labor and my pains, and 
the work of my neighbors' buffaloes through 
the spring, not one cowrie's worth remained, 
and I took off my turban and threw it upon 
the ground and wept and roared." 

" Didst thou by chance pray to any of thy 
Hindu gods ? " said Kadir Baksh, quickly. 
Dunnee said nothing, but his one eye twinkled, 
and I fancy he chuckled deep in his throat. 

••I — I do not remember upon whom I 
called. I was insensible with grief, and when 
I lifted up my eyes I saw him, the evil one 
with the collar, sitting alone upon the boun- 
dary-stone, regarding me with wicked yellow 
eyes, and I threw my turban at him and it be- 
came unrolled, and he caught one end of it 
and dragged it away up the hillside. So I 
came back to my house bareheaded, without 
honor and ashamed, the sport of the monkey- 
folk." 

There was a pause, and he pulled at his pipe 
furiously. 

" Now, therefore," he went on, " we feed 
the monkeys twice a day, as thou, O Sahib, 
hast seen, for we hope to patch up a peace 
between us. Indeed, they do not steal much 
now ; there is very little left to steal ; and he 
with the collar went away after the ruin of my 
rice-field. Now, my little daughter's wedding 
this year will lack a bridal procession and a 
band of musicians, and I do not know whence 
my next year's seed-rice will come. AH this 
I owe to the monkey-folk, and especially to 
him with the «ollar." 

Long after I had rolled the blanket round 
me, and was trying to go to sleep, I heard 
Kadir Baksh's deep voice quoting texts from 
the Koran, and telling the farmer never to for- 
get that he was a true Mohammedan. 

A fortnight later I came back to Simla again, 
and the first i)erson to meet me in the drive 
was Collar-Wallah. He dashed under Dolly 
Bobs's feet and made her shy, and then sat on 
a low branch nibbling his tail. whi( h is the last 
insult that a monkey can offer. 

" Collar- Wallah," I said, reining up, " it 's no 



iSgj.) 



COI.I.AR-WAl.l.AII AM) IIIK POISON-STICK. 



249 



use your pretending not to understand. 1 heard Collar-Wallah might have been the most in- 

something about you at Kotgarh, and 1 warn nocent monkey in the world (though I do not 

you solemnly that if ever you try to do any- for a moment believe it), and perhaps he did 

thing to me again, I sha'n't throw pine-cones not understand a word that I said. All I 

at you. I shall shoot vou dead. / 'w not a know is that he never came near the house 

farmer." again as long as 1 was there. 



BATTLING UNDER WATER, 



By Frederick Hobart Spencer. 



-*t. 




^-r ■'^. *r. 




THE MONITOR " TECUMSEH " SUNK BY A TOHI'EDO, DURING ADMIRAL FARRAGUT's ATTACK UPON THE FORTS 

AT MOBILE, 1864. 



The greatest question in naval warfare to- 
day is not about the big battle-ships or saucy 
torpedo-boats, already pictured and described 
in St. Nicholas, but how to get a boat that 
will safely dive below the keel of a hostile 
vessel and blow her to destruction with a 
charge of dynamite or guncotton. This mode 
of attacking an enemj- is not entirely new, for, 
nearly twenty-five hundred years ago, divers 
were lowered into the water in a simply 
constructed air-box, to perforate the wooden 



bottoms of an adversary's war-galleys, in order 
to sink them, and drown or capture their row- 
ers and fighting men. 

The diving warrior and his box did not out- 
last the great galleys they had tried to sink, 
and the history of these boats passes over two 
thousand years to the American captain Bush- 
nell, of the Revolutionary army, and his diving- 
boat. This was a tiny, walnut-shaped vessel, 
sculletl by a single oar, and having a crew of 
one man. The boat sat low in the water while 



;o 



BATTLING UNDER WATER. 



(Feb. 




THE BISHNELL TORPEPd-BOAT. 



on the surface, enabling it at night to get near 
its intended victim without detection. Then 
the hatch was closed, shutting in air 
enough to last half an hour, and by 
letting in a little water and turning an 
upright screw-bladed oar, the boat was 
sunk to near the keel-level of the en- 
emy's vessel, and sculled under the hull. 
A torpedo outside the boat earned a 
heavy charge of gunpowder, and was 
provided with clockwork to fire the 
charge after the little torpedo-boat 
should have retreated to a safe distance. 
The torpedo had a pointed screw stem, 
by which it was to be attached to tlie 
doomed vessel, the screw being turned 
from inside the torpedo-boat. Except 



for the breaking of this screw, it is pos- 
sible that the British admiral's flag-ship 
might have been blown up as she lay 
at anchor in New York harbor ; but 
that is mere guesswork, for, as Gen- 
eral Washington said of the boat, " too 
many things were necessary to be com- 
bined in it." Yet it was ingenious, a 
credit to American skill and daring, and 
its arrangements are still studied by 
those interested in submarine navigation. 
Twenty-five years later, Robert Ful- 
ton, who did so much for steam naviga- 
tion, took the Bushnell boat for a model, 
and greatly improved upon it. He 
made the hull of thin copper sheets, instead 
of wood, and changed the sculling-oar into a 




' LiVMNOTE PATROI.Ll.M, A tOAS 




THE NOKDKSi KM 



paddle-wheel worked by hand. 
He forced into a copper tank 
enough air to supply a crew of 
four men while under water for 
six hours. For use while at the 
surfoce, the boat was provided 
with removable masts and sails. 
His experiments lasted some 
twelve years, the governments 
of France, Great Britain, and 
the United States successively 
su])plying the means. But 
naval experts everywhere 
scouted the serviceableness of 
tlie boat, and the higher au- 
tliorities denounced its mode 
of warfare as no better than 
murder or assassination. The 



•893.1 



BATTLING UNDER WATER. 



251 




M 



DESTRUCTION OF THE U. 



' HOUSATOMC " BY A TOKPliDO-BOAT, OFF CHARLESTON, 10 



device, however, was employed without official 
permission against some of the British vessels 
blockading the New England coasts in the War 
of 181 2. Though no actual damage was done, 
the blockaders were badly frightened by the 
attempts. 

Nothing important succeeded Fulton's boat 
till the time of the Civil XN'ar, when the Con- 
federates constructed some cigar-shaped ves- 



sels of sheet-iron, to be driven by a screw 
worked by hand, and submerged by the ad- 
mission of water ; the descent and ascent were 
regulated by rudders or paddles on the sides 
of the boat, in much the same wa\- as in the 
Bushnell boat. 'I'hese boats were provided 
with floating torpedoes that dragged astern and 
were intended to explode by striking against 
the bottom of a ship under which the torpedo- 



-':)'-' 



BATTLING UNDER WATER. 



[Feb. 




.foJ^Awnscu 



THE LEAK THAT SANK THE " ALBEMARLE " — CAISED BY A TORPEDO. (SEE PAGE 316.) 



to the keel, and their 
swift steaming guard- 
boats, also armed with 
torpedoes for attack 
upon advancing en- 
emies of the same 
lind. Thereupon the 
1 ry is for a torpedo- 
boat that may defy 
the search-light, the 
rapid-fire guns, the 
steel nettings, and the 
guard-boats, and such 
a boat must be one 
that can come near, 
and do its work un- 
seen. 

Naval authorities 
no longer consider it 
barbarous or inhu- 
man to use submarine 
boats, for the world 
has grown accustom- 
ed to the use of hid- 
den torpedoes, and of 
the terrible dynamite, 
in operations of war. 
Nor can the weaker 



boat should pass. They had also torpedoes set 
on a spar standing out from the bow of the 
boat. One of these sparred torpedoes de- 
stroyed the Federal blockader " Housatonic," 
off Charleston, but the torpedo-boat and her 
crew of nine men were also lost by being 
caught in the wreck of the sinking ship. The 
same toqjedo-boat had previously drowned 
twenty-three members of her successive crews 
by many accidents due to her defects. 

The reason why sul^marine torpedo-boats 
are in demand is that the surfoce torjjcdo-boats 
may be failures, though a few years ago they 
were so highly thought of that many authorities 
declared it folly to build large and costly battle- 
ships, when an inexpensive torpedo-boat could 
readily destroy them. But the battle-shij)s 
now have their electric search-lights for night 
use, their machine-guns to rain tempests of 
projectiles upon an approaching foe, their steel 
nettings reaching out from the hull and down 



or poorer nations 
afford to turn away from an agent within even 
their reach, for it may one day be the means 
of preserving their rights or their liberties from 
some stronger naval power. 

To be safe and efficient, a submarine torpedo- 
boat must have many good qualities. It must 
be a good surface-boat, able to keep at sea in 
rough weather, and to travel at a speed of some 
twenty-five miles an hour in smooth water. 
When under water, the speed should not be less 
than fifteen miles an hour. All machiner)' for 
keeping the boat at a regulated depth below 
the surface, or for preventing it from rolling over, 
or from dipping at the bow or stern, must be 
self-acting — that is, not dependent from moment 
to moment u])on the judgment, skill, or atten- 
tion of the crew. The boat must be well lighted 
within, and must afford the crew a good view 
throughout the adjacent water. It should also 
have means for bringing down from the surface 
a reflected view of what is present or happen- 



.893.1 



HATTLING UNDKR WATER. 



253 



ing there within a radius of at least a mile. The 
air contained within the boat must be purified 
by chemical process, ami the ordinary tempera- 
ture must not greatly exceetl that of a hot day 
in midsummer. The crew must be able to get 
surely and quickly into the water in case of ac- 
cident to the boat, or of other peril to their lives. 
The boat must be able to remain continuously 
under water for at least twelve hours, and, dur- 
ing that time, to lay its course accurately and 
know its position. It must be able to avoid or 
to clear obstructions or entanglements, and to 
e.Ktricate itself from mud in shallow waters. 
The boat and its appliances must be so con- 
structed and so arranged as to act with great 
certainty, ease, and readiness under all circum- 
stances, so that the commander may take his 
proceedings and give his orders for the working 
of the boat in full confidence of the result. 
Finally, the boat must be able to discharge into 
and through the water a torpedo large enough 
and powerful enough to destroy the greatest 
war-ship without clan- 
ger to the boat itself. 
No submarine boat 
yet built has fully reach- 
ed the foregoing stan- 
dard, but a few have 
given much promise, 
and excited great hope 
of development into a 
high degree of effective- 
ness Chief among these 
is the French boat 
" Gymnote," designed 
by Naval Constructor 
Zede, a steel, cigar- 
shaped, propeller vessel, 
driven by electricity, 
and carrying an out- 
side torpedo to be ex- 
ploded by an electric 
current sent from the 
boat. This vessel has 
made eleven miles an 
hour when fully sub- 
merged, and has re- 
mained continuously 
under water for eight 
hours. A reflection of 



whatever is upon the surface in the vicin- 
ity of the submerged boat is carried down 
through a kind of telescope, and enables the 
o|>erators to handle the vessel as readily and 
intelligently as if they themselves were upon 
the surface. For the present the French author- 
ities are keeping the boat as secret as possible. 
How serviceable the boat would be in actual 
warfare, cannot yet be even guessed. 

A submarine boat invented by Lieutenant 
Feral, of the Spanish navy, has been tested at 
Cadiz with good results. This vessel is also 
cigar-shaped, and is propelled by twin screws 
driven by electricity. The torpedo used is of 
the Whitehead pattern, which by internal ma- 
chinery propels itself toward the object at which 
it is directed, and is exploded when it strikes. 
The " Peral " has made six miles an hour, and 
has remained submerged for as much as three 
hours and a half. How it is made, and how it 
works, have not been told. 

Before the recent construction of the Gym- 




' PEACEMAKER. 



254 



BATTLING UNDER WATER. 



note and Peral, the Nordenfelt boat, designed 
by the inventor of a noted machine-gun, was 
considered the most promising. This boat is 
rounded at the center, with the ends tapering 
to upright wedges. It is propelled by a screw 
driven by a steam-engine. It is submerged and 
raised by taking in or forcing out water-ballast, 
and its sinking or rising is aided by upright 
screws. Flat rudders at the bow prevent the 
dipping of stem or stern. The boat, in its latest 
form, has shown great seaworthiness, and when 
submerged has reached a speed of over twelve 
miles an hour. Though depending upon the 
natural supply of air, the boat is able to remain 
a long time under water without coming to the 
surface. The torpedo used is the Whitehead, 
already mentioned. 

Lieutenant Hovgaard, of the Danish navy, is 
the designer of a boat intended to be propelled 
by electricity when submerged, and by steam 
upon the surface. Its submerging and descend- 
ing are governed by upright propellers with a 
thrusting motion. It is meant for a long stay 
under water, and its mechanism is to be largely 
self-acting, — an important safeguard against a 
sudden and fatal plunge to the bottom. 

An English boat, the invention of a civil- 
engineer named Ash, differs from others in being 
so made as to sink, so long as the downward 
motion is not arrested by the pushing out of 
metal cylinders arranged in a row on each side 
of the boat and charged with compressed air. 
This cyHnder arrangement is remarkably simple 
and ingenious, but actual trials of the boat have 
not been encouraging. 

The " Peacemaker " is an American boat, de- 
signed by a resident of San Francisco, named 
Tuck. Its shape is that of an elongated oval. 
The motive-power is steam, the boiler being 
heated by a coal fire while on the surface, and 
by caustic soda after submergence. The means 
of descent and ascent are of an ordinary kind ; 



namely, water-ballast and side rudders. Com- 
pressed air, purified by chemical process, is sup- 
plied to the crew. Two buoyant torpedoes, 
coupled together, are floated under the keel of 
the ship to be destroyed, and magnets are at- 
tached to them to make them hold to the steel 
plates. They are then exploded by an electric 
current from the boat. In an actual river trial 
at New York, this boat has made eight miles 
per hour, and has remained below the surface 
for half an hour. 

Senhor Barboza de Souza, of Pemambuco in 
Brazil, has sought to lessen the consequences 
of accident or disaster by making the bow and 
stem sections of a boat detachable from the 
midship section, so that they, or either of them, 
may be cast off in case of entanglement or 
injury, leaving behind a still perfect and fully 
equipped submarine vessel. 

So far as can be determined upon present in- 
formation, no submarine torpedo-boat has yet 
been built or planned that would completely 
meet the requirements of actual warfare. That 
such boats will be plentiful within a few years 
seems, however, almost a certainty. This con- 
clusion few would doubt in the presence of the 
Nordenfelt boat, to take a particular example. 
And the destruction of a single large war-ship 
by a submarine boat would spread demoraliza- 
tion through the navies of the world. After the 
blowing up of the Housatonic, the fine steam- 
frigate " Wabash," armed with powerful guns, 
and having a disciplined crew of seven nundred 
men, fled in ludicrous confusion from one of the 
clumsy little Confederate divers — ofticers and 
seamen alike terror-stricken till safety was as- 
sured by distance. Naval power would be 
paralyzed till means should be found to neutral- 
ize the mischief of the unseen and unknown 
adversary, and it might be that naval warfare 
would be transferred for a time beneath the 
surface of the sea. 



Till': i;()\'ii()()i) oi" ijx'is XIV 

By Adki.a E. UKi^t:N. 




THE CHATEAU OF ST. GERMAIN. 



No human being ever thought more of him- 
self than Louis XIV. of France. He was not 
at all remarkable in himself, but he had a re- 
markable life, and he fills a great space in history. 
When he was born, all Europe rejoiced, and 
when he died, the world felt that a great light 
had gone out. He was not a handsome man, 
or wise, or learned; yet he thought himself 
all three, and no wonder. He was always sur- 
rounded by a crowd of men and Avomen who 
made him think he was the most perfect human 
being the world had ever produced. So much 
flattery had its effect. 

His father was Louis XHL, a dreary, sad- 
faced man, as different as possible from his 



gay and cheery grandfather, Henry IV. ; his 
mother was Anne of Austria, a beautiful wo- 
man of imperious will, the eldest daughter of 
the King of Spain. 

Great were the rejoicings at his birth (Sep- 
tember 5, 1638), In Paris, on the quay of the 
Hotel de Ville, wine and food were distributed 
for three whole days to all who came ; and at 
night the city appeared to be on fire, such was 
the splendor of its illuminations. 

The public baptism of the dauphin, or heir, 
was postponed until April, 1643, and was then 
celebrated with magnificence in the chapel at 
St. Germain. The story goes that on the re- 
turn from the ceremony, the king asked his 



256 



THE BOYHOOD OF I.OLIS XIV. 



name, and when the child answered, " Louis 
the Fourteenth,"' the king reproved him, say- 
ing, "Not yet, my son; not yet!" 

Whether this Httle dialogue ever took place, 
we cannot say ; but certain it is that the 
moment was fast approaching when the child 
in very truth would be Louis XIV. 

Little Louis was just four years and eight 
months old when, by the death of his father, he 
became King of France. He received his cour- 
tiers gracefully on the first occasion when they 
presented themselves before him ; and when he 
and his mother stepped out on the balcony to 
show themselves to the people who swarmed 
below, he was greeted with shouts of " Vive Ic 
Jioif" from the populace. Thus began his long 
reign over France. Immediately after assum- 
ing his royal duties, he presided at a council. 
Lifted into the chair of state, he sat there de- 
murely while the council deliberated, and then 
signed his first public document, — his mother, 
Anne of Austria, holding his little hand, and 
guiding the pen. 

The next morning he was taken to Paris. 
His whole journey was a triumphal progress. 
The people never tired of looking at and 
praising the lovely child, who sat on his mo- 
ther's knee and gazed at them with earnest 
baby eyes. It was on the occasion of meet- 
ing his parliament next day that, for at least 
once in his stately life, Louis XIV. acted like 
a child. He was sitting upon his throne in the 
Hall of Saint Louis, the queen regent on his 
right hand, the court all around, while in front 
sat the parliament, composed of grave, dignified 
men, awaiting his orders. The cjueen stood 
him upon his feet, and whis[)ered in his ear. 
The king laughed, V)lushed, turned around, and 
hid his little face in the cushions of his seat. 
Never had parliament been more quaintly re- 
ceived ! But Anne of Austria was strict in 
etiquette. Again she took his hand, again 
spoke softly in his ear. Gracefully he step])ed 
forward and said, " Gentlemen, I am come to 
assure you of my affection ; my chancellor will 
inform you of my will." 

The little king was too young, of course, to 
understand much that went on around him. 
He spent the greater part of every day in the 
company of his mother. X small band of chil- 



dren, formed into a military company and called 
les eiifauts d^lionueur (children of honor), helped 
to amuse his Majesty. He drilled them severely, 
marching them up and down the long gallery 
of the Louvre to the sound of a big drum, 
which had been gi\en him, and which he de- 
lighted to beat. Whenever the queen appeared, 
these youngsters presented arms with much 
dignity. 

When Louis was seven years old — that is to 
say, in the year 1645 — he danced at the wedding 
of his cousin, Marie de Xevers, who married 
the King of Poland. Dancing was a fine art 
at this time, and one in which persons of high 
rank were expected to excel. Anne of Austria 
was an exquisite dancer, and had caused her 
son to be carefully trained in this graceful 
accomplishment. Young as he was, he could 
bow with surprising distinction, and wield his 
hat skilfully in the mazes of the minuet. 

On his eighth birthday he was taken from 
his governess and ladies, and placed in the 
charge of men. The change caused him much 
vexation, and the first night when, instead of 
his familiar nurse, a valet came to care for him, 
his slumbers were much disturbed. In fact, he 
could not go to sleep, because the valet did not 
know the story called the " Ass's Ride," which 
his nurse always told him at bedtime. The 
valet also was in tribulation, but at last be- 
thought him of Mezeray's " History of France." 
The book was read aloud with the happiest re- 
sults — his Majesty slept. Mezeray's history is 
enough to send any one to sleep in five min- 
utes, so it is no wonder that Louis yielded. 

On the loth of November, 1647, the king 
was at the play, and enjoying himself very 
much, when suddenly he complained of violent 
pains and asked to be taken home. Next 
day he was in a high fever, and on the third 
day smallpox declared itself The court fled, 
only one lady of honor remaining with the 
queen during this terrible crisis in her son's 
life ; and the queen herself watched beside him 
until she fainted from exhaustion. For days he 
lay at the point of death, but at length began 
slowly to recover. Then his mother wept for joy. 
Kre long he was (juite well, only — the bloom 
of his beauty had fled with the disease. Even 
his brother did not know him when they met. 




LOUIS XIV. AS A BOY. 



Vol. XX.— 17. 



(FROM THE STATCE IN THE LOUVRE.) 
257 



2'^S 



THE BOYHOOD OF LOUIS XIV. 



[Feb. 



When the first war of the Fronde broke out, 
the royal family were in Paris; but, owing to the 
cjueen's unpopularity, they did not there enjoy 
])eace. Accordingly, early in 1649, she deter- 
mined to leave the city, and knowing that 
she would not be permitted to go openly, 
took her measures in secret. At three o'clock 
on a cold winter morning the king arose, and 
joined his mother and brother at a back door- 
way of the Palais Royal. They drove to St. Ger- 
main,where they arrived just as the sun was rising. 
They were unexpected, so nothing was ready : 
neither furniture, food, nor fire. Those who 
could get enough straw to sleep upon were lucky. 

For three or four days they endured much 
discomfort; then a sort of peace was patched 
up, the king and queen came back, and were 
received with acclamations by the people. The 
same populace who, a few months before, were 
execrating their names, now rent the air with 
shouts of joy. 

It was a rule of the old French law that 
monarchs come of age at thirteen. Louis was 
rapidly approaching the momentous birthday. 
He had grown into a tall, fine-looking lad ; his 
manners were good ; he was an excellent horse- 
man ; he danced admirably, as we have seen ; 
and he had already shown that taste for elabo- 
rate dress and ceremony which later years were 
so strongly to develop. 

But before he reached the eventful day, the 
royal pair passed through a trying experience. 
It was night-time. Suddenly a rumor spread 
abroad that the king and his mother were trying 
to escape out of their unfriendly capital. Bells 
rang, the people turned out, all Paris was in an 
uproar, and marched down upon the Palais 
Royal. 

Arrived at the palace gates, the people 
shouted their will. "Our king! Show us our 
king ! " they cried. Within the palace were dis- 
may and fear. The queen's ladies, pale and 
trembling, clung to her; she alone was undis- 
mayed. Hearing the shout for the king, she — 
his mother — calmly ordered the doors to be 
thrown open wide. She faced the mob of those 
who would enter, and asked what they wanted. 
" To see the king," they answered, " and as- 
sure ourselves that you do not intend to steal 
him away." 



" The king sleeps," replied the queen. " I 
will show him to you." 

With all the regal grace for which she was 
famous, Anne slowly led the way down the 
gallery to her son's room. She was followed 
by as motley a crew as ever the Palais Royal 
had seen within its walls. On the threshold 
she paused to put her finger significantly on her 
lips, then stepped forward to the bed, pulled 
wide the curtains, and displayed to the people 
the young king seemingly asleep. He was 
only feigning slumber. Louis the Fourteenth 
lay there with eyelids tight shut, but it was to 
keep back the tears of helpless anger that welled 
up from his heart. 

For two hours the queen stood beside his 
pillow, and did the honors of his supposed 
slumber, while the rabble of Paris filed past in 
whispered admiration. Such nights as these in 
the lives of kings either dethrone them or make 
them tyrants. 

On the morning when the king attained his 
majority, he rose early, and was dressed in a 
splendid suit, covered so thickly with gold em- 
broidery that none of the material could be 
seen. His mother and Monsieur d'Anjou, fol- 
lowed by the whole court, saluted him, and 
then a splendid procession set out for the Hall 
of Saint Louis, where he was to meet his par- 
liament. 

The ceremony was very grand, and now the 
king and his mother hnagined that their 
troubles were at an end. But, within the 
month, the second civil war, by far the most 
serious Fronde war, burst out. Twice during its 
course the king was near losing his kingdom, 
if not his life. Not until months had passed, 
and many lives were lost, were the civil wars 
finally concluded. 

It was the special wish of Anne of Austria 
that her son should marry his cousin, the In- 
fanta Maria Theresa, and she kept this object in 
view even in the midst of a war with Spain. 
The Infanta, who was just fifteen days younger 
than Louis, was a fair, blue-eyed girl, not 
beautiful in feature. Despite the most grace- 
less coiffure and dress ever invented, her por- 
trait by Velasquez, the great Spanish painter, 
shows her an attractive young princess. 

The marriage project took definite shape in 



1893] 



THE BOYHOOD OF I.OUIS XIV 



259 




THE INFANTA MARIA THERESA OF SPAIN. BY PERMISSION, FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BS' J. LAURENT & CO., MADRID, 

OF THE PAINTING BY VELASQUEZ. 



1659, and the king with his court set out on Louis the Fourteenth was now, in very truth, 

a long progress through the south of France, the King of France. A new era in his Hfe 

until finally, in May, 1660, he found himself on began — the most interesting of his life, but of 

the Spanish frontier, awaiting his bride. his reign the histories will best tell the story. 



A CHINESE VALF.XTINE. 





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LITILI-: IM-ri'R AND Till': (ii.wr. 

{.-I l-'itbli- of I he Olil-luishi.ii.il Sort.) 




\\\ I ACK. BKNNKir. 



GRKAT many years "Not too young to have seen many in love, 
ago, in the only fair sir; yet none that I have known have ever 
country where there suffered in this strange way." 
ever really were gi- " But 1 am a poet, alack ! " 
ants outside of the "Indeed? And pray, what strange thing 
dime museums, Lit- may a poet be that to him love brings tears, 
tie Peter sat in the and joy sorrow ? " 

fence-corner, dream- " I write verses on the merry seasons, on the 
ing his day-dreams, sweet passion of love, on birds and bees and 
There was nothing meadow-flowers in their time : but the seasons 
else for him to do. shortly pass away, and love is but a fair, false 
He was too 
small to be an 

esquire or a knight, too weak to work, and 

not deformed enough to be court jester. 

He always came at meal-times and to bed ; 

so his mother made no complaint or com- 
pliment : she set little store by Peter, for 

he could never go to war and win an estate 

in some far country, nor have a large stone 

sarcophagus in the abbey when he died. 

And, dreaming in the fence-corner, he 

pondered much on many questions that 

people having more to do had less time 

to consider. 

As he dreamed he heard a piteous 

voice wailing, " Woe is me ! Woe is 

me ! " and, clambering to the fence-top, 

saw a tall and handsome lad sighing 

along the road, his features stained with 

dusty tears. 

" Why say you ' whoa ' ? " asked Peter. 

" You go slow enough now." 

" Alas, it is not that sort of woe ! " 

wailed the youth; " I am in love ! " 

" And that seems passing strange, fair 

sir! I thought that love did always make 

one happy ! " 

The stranger paused and looked curiously at dream ; birds and bees fly away erelong, or 

the weazened figure on the fence. perish quickly, and the loveliest flowers the 

" You must be very young," he said simply, soonest fade." 

261 




1 AM IN love!" wailed THE YOUTH. 



262 



LITTLE PETER AND THE GL\NT. 



[Feb. 



*• You don't say ? Why, that is too bad, in- 
deed 1 " exclaimed Little Peter. '• Were you 
bom that way, fair sir ? " 

'* Born what way, child ? " 

'' Why, to this tearsome frame of mind ? I 
did never see one who took this same sad 
pleasure in being sorrowful. 

" There, there," continued Little Peter. " It 
must, indeed, be rooted deep within your ribs, 
sir, to anguish you so ! My mother makes a 
famous herb tea for the heartburn ; perhaps 
that would do you good. And is this maid so 
delightsome that your queer poet's mind can 
do nothing but weep ? " 

" Ah, deary me I She is sweet as a mom in 
spring, as bright as the summer noon, as tender 
as the fading day of fall. She is my light, my 
love, my life — with her 1 live; without, I 
die ! " 

" Yes, but my brother Giles raved much as 
you, and when he brought her home she was but 
an every-day lass. And if you love this maiden 
so, why not go get her, instead of wandering 
about country lanes mildewing your velvet coat 
with tears ? " 

'• Ah, boy, you little understand the world. I 
am a poet, and she — she is a princess," and his 
tears flowed again. 

"A princess? Well, what hindereth that? 
I have spelled it in the leathern tome upon my 
uncle's desk that ' Noe maiden, however sweete 
and faire, is worth more than brave heart.' " 

" But listen to the deeds that must be done 
to win her. Upon the Fatal Isle there is a 
bush whose golden berries hang unpicked, a 
book unwritten, and a stone unmoved. He 
who would wed the princess must pick the ber- 
ries, write his name in the book, and move the 
stone from where it stands. Many go, but none 
come back ; for on the gloomy isle there dwells 
a fearsome giant, and whosoever fights him 
dies. Thus comes the gruesome name, the 
Fatal Isle." 

Then Little Peter mused deeply a moment. 
" And all for a woman's smile," quoth he. 
" Truly, what simpletons men do be ! I would 
not pinch my smallest finger for forty smiles, — 
else there were a bowl of bread and milk or 
honey with them." 

" But stay, there is a kingdom, a treasure, an 



army, a stable of Arab steeds, and a grand 
store of books also in the game." 

" Oh, crickets ! That were a prize worth the 
winning! What say you, sir, — go we together 
to win it ? " 

" VV^ith you ? Ha, ha, ha ! And pray, grass- 
hopper, what can you do for a giant ? " 

"The raindrops run the river — the toad in 
the little hole was not hurt when the house fell. 
Go we in partnership, and I '11 take care of the 
giant, never fear. Show me but the island, and 
you shall have your princess, faint heart — and 
as to how, there are many sensible things 
which poets do not know. Mind you your part : 
leave me mine. Do we go ? " 

" With all my heart. Lead on." 

Then down into the road leaped Little Pe- 
ter and struck out at a good round pace, his 
shrewd gray eye flashing with a new fire. 

" And what wild scheme of derring-do may 
be your plan ? " inquired the youth. 

" Your questions are yours to do with as 
you please," answered Peter. " My plan is 
mine, and I propose to keep it. Recipes for 
the killing of giants do not come so cheap as to 
be given away for the asking. And more, fair 
sir, do you not cease )Our woeful sighing, shrive 
me but I '11 trip the heels of you into the next 
mud-hole we find ! " 

At that the poet put on a brave smile and 
laid aside his gloom, while Little Peter took on 
a new dignity that well became him, and held 
his peace. And so they went on right merrily 
until the sea was reached, with the Fatal Isle, 
the giant's castle, and the ghastly bone-strewn 
beach in sight ; whereat the poet set to shaking 
like a leaf, but Peter waxed more eager than 
before. 

II. 

Bravely accoutred with small sword and 
buckler, buskins and shining helm of steel. Lit- 
tle Peter rowed right manfully to the Fatal Isle, 
while the fainting i)oet hied himself away to the 
ancient inn that stood hard by, and sought to 
drown his doubts in thimblefuls of mulberry 
wine. 

At wading distance from the shore. Little 
Peter leaped from the dory, and pulling a stop- 
ple from its bottom, speedily sunk it from sight, 



'893] 



I.ITTI.E I'KTER AND IHK GIANT. 



26 



that the giant might not find ami dcstrt)) it, and 
SI) pen him up on the desohite place. 

Then he strode up the beach, crying at the 
top of his lungs, " What ho ! What ho ! Come 
forth that I may do tiiee battle!" but the 
sounil of a huge mouth-harp, on which the 
lonely Colossus whiled away the weary days 
between fights, was all his answer. Again he 







"Hullo, Toddlekins ! " he roared. "What 
game is this the babies play, since men are all 
gone coward ? " 

"Toddlekins indeed!" ( ried Little I'eter. 
Harken,.thou caitiff! — thou art too loud of 
mouth for courtesy. Draw and defend thyself, 
ere I lay thee upon these bone-strewn sands ! " 

With which he made such a sudden assault 






-rv ^, <l',.^ '_mY 










,»v,v^^^^^^ l^^^ 




"little peter rowed right mankully tj the fatal isle. 



lifted up his voice defiantly, and beat upon his 
shield with a vim. With a tremendous crash, 
the moldy drawbridge fell, and the rusty port- 
cullis flew up with a shriek. Out rushed the 
giant, so blind with rage that he had nearly 
stepped upon Peter and smashed him flat be- 
fore the fight commenced. Round the castle 
he foamed, through the chicken-yard, and over 
the moat with a mighty bound, fat though 
he was. " Adzooks ! " puffed he, panting on 
the lawn. " Methought I heard a hail. 'T is 
strange, 't is passing strange ! " Then he spied 
Peter, standing his ground sturdily, and stared 
at the little fellow in stupid amazement. 



upon the giant's fat legs, that Buncome — for 
this was his name — roared with startled anger, 
and sweeping his immense sword all about, 
smashed two tall trees, and demolished the 
whole side of his summer kitchen. Peter 
adroitly evaded the blow; but it was so rapidly 
followed by a ceaseless shower of flail-like 
swoops that he barely saved his little self from 
being swept into the ocean or scattered about 
the beach. Furious at his repeated failures to 
crush the audacious mite, the burly Buncome 
seized a mighty shovel standing by, and, scoop- 
ing up a sandy space and Little Peter with it, 
with one mighty thrust he made ready to throw 



264 



LITTLE PETER AND THE GIANT. 



[Feb. 



the whole far out into the sea ; when Peter, see- the women all exclaim, ' There goes Buncome, 

ing that all was up if he did not speak in haste, the baby-butcher!' Why, your name will become 

shouted, '• Hold, lubber knight, for I yield me a laugliing-stock in the land, and you, fallen too 

to your mercy!" low for decent men to combat, will stay alone 

The giant stayed his hand a moment, pant- ujjon this isle, despised and forgot, until you 

ing, '• Oddsbodilikins ! Why thought you not fatten like a pig in a pen, scant of breath and 




THE COMBAT BETWEEN LITTLE I'ETER AND THE OlANT. 



on that before? Had you not vexed me so, 
I would have had mercy and mashed you most 
tenderly ; but now I mind me to rend you 
limb from limb!" 

" And valiant, then, indeed, would be your 
tale of killing one so small as I ! If that be 
what you call bravery, in sooth it was a poor 
quality that you chose when you set yourself 
up in the hero business. But kill me, and hear 



scant of glory, all from being scant of wit. 
What fame get you by S([uashing me ? What 
fear you ? That I will move a stone four hun- 
dred times my weight, or steal berries beneath 
your eyes ? " 

" Gadzooks ! Sir Spiderlegs, those be large 
thoughts for a little head ! You shall be my 
serf. Yet where shall I keep you ? " 

''Chain me to your leg," said Little Peter; 



1893] 



LITTLK I'KTEK AND THK GIANT. 



265 



" then 1 shall be always with you to give you 
good advice." 

" By my halidom, Toddlekins, you are right ! 
and so shall 1 tether thee." 

Next day, the breakfast platters i leaned, and 
the beans put to soaking for dinner, the huge 
giant and Little Peter set out upon their rounds. 
Tied by the giant's key-chain to Huncome's 
leg, the small jjrisoner had a lively time keep- 
ing uj) with Buncome's stride; but, though the 
day was hot, so stupendous was the bulk of 
the man-mountain that Peter, beneath, ran all 
the while in perfect shade. Indeed, Buncome 
could not see his little slave at all unless the 
tether was stretched to its utmost, and Little 
Peter was in high glee, for all his plans were 
working finely. 

Reaching the bush that bore the golden ber- 
ries, with much scratching of his dull head Bun- 
come managed to count the precious bits upon 
his fingers, to see that none were stolen in the 
night. They were all 
there. But, as he 
straightened up to scan 
the horizon for strange 
sails. Little Peter cau- 
tiously pulled a small 
pan from under his 
doublet, and began to 
pick the berries as fast 
as his pudgy fingers 
could fly. Noiselessly 
they dropped into the 
pan. 

" Ho, ho ! What are 
you up to down there ? " 
said the giant, in tones 
that shook the hill. 

"The midgets bother 
me so that I have to 
drive them off with my 
chain," answered Peter, 
and Buncome was too 
close to the bush to 
see it over his huge 
paunch when he looked 
down; so all the berries were soon picked. Then 
from his pocket Peter pulled a paper of brass but- 
tons and stuck them on the bare branches, where 
they glittered finely in the sun; so that when 



the giant glanced back from his path, the bush 
.seemed to bear even more berries than usual, 
and he went on chuckling at his faithfulness. 
Just beyond the hill was the anticjue, carven, 
rocky niche in which the great book of empty 
pages had for years awaited the name of the 
hero who never came. Down plumped Bun- 




HOLD, LUBBER KNIGHT! SHOUTED LITTLE PETER. I YIELD ME TO YOUR MEKCY 



come on his stalwart knees to examine the 
leaves, whereat Peter had to fly to the length 
of his chain to keep from under the crush. 
The sheets were fair as the driven snow, with- 



266 



LITTLE PETER AND THE GIANT. 



[Feb. 



out line, or mark, or blot. And then the giant 
swept the horizon with his sjjy-glass, that no ad- 
venturer might come too close to land. That 
was Peter's opportunity. He nimbly hopped 
to Buncome's boot, and clambered to the high 
desk. Pulling the deep-rusted pen from the 
clotted ink-well, he scrawled his name in brave 
characters across the page, turned a few lea\ es 
over upon it, and clambered down again just as 
the giant hurried on. 

The rock that figured in the task lay full 
two miles down the coast, and Buncome ran 
the entire way. Had Peter not clung des- 
perately to the giant's spur, he would have been 
jerked to pieces in a little while, or trampled 
under foot. " Good lack! " he gasped, when at 
last the giant sat him down upon the stone to 
breathe, "if thou dost run this awful twenty 
mile each day, good master, then thou art 
duller than I dreamed. A pinch of wit would 
save you this weary task. You can lift this 
great rock with ease; take it on your broad 
back, untether me that I may keep good 
watch for you, and carry the rock home and 
safely down your own big cellar. No knight 
could find or move it there, I ween, with you 
at hand all day; nor would this dreary score 
of miles be necessary more." 

" By my breath, babykin, you have a head 
like the king's counselor. Where got you it?" 

" It was a birthday present, if you must needs 
know. But hoist you the rock, and get we 
home, that dinner may not wait." 

The towering castle reached, Peter pre- 
tended to turn in haste to the dinner, while 
the giant sprung the great bolts of the cellar 
trap, threw open the massive door, and, load- 
ing the rock upon his shoulders, stepped down 
the steep, dark stairs. No sooner was his head 
beneath the floor than Peter sprang to the hatch, 
slammed down the mighty door, slid to the 
ponderous beams with all his strength, turned 
the key in the lock, and with a mocking laugh 
of triumph sat him down to dine. 

Three days, three nights the hungry giant 
howled and raved amid the dark and damp, 
which made him sore afraid. Then, his appe- 
tite proving greater than his ardor, he surren- 
dered with good grace, and was set free, humble 
and steadfast to the terms of his release. Three 



days and three nights he ate all he wanted; 
then he turned the keys over to Little Peter, 
and scurried away to a far countrj' where his 
prowess would noi be damaged by reports of 
his ignominious defeat. 

Then Peter rowed right proudly back to join 
tlie weeping poet, who was wild with delight 
at winning the princess even so ingloriously 
as by proxy of a dwarf " Such is the blind 
and eager egotism of them that be in love," 
thought Little Peter. 

But soon again the sad poet began to wail. 
" Alas ! I fear that, having won the kingdom 
and the princess, you will keep them both, and 
nevermore shall I have hope to win my love." 

" A fever on your foolishness ! Be this a 
poet's nature, to doubt a man of honor, to 
make a bear of a bugaboo, to weep for lack of 
else to do, I would liever be a dullard dolt ! 
And faith, I do not want your princess. And 
should I, she would not have me, weak and 
stunted as I am, though a giant-conqueror. 
Give me the kingdom, keep your princess." 

" But, alas ! mayhap the king will hear of 
no such parceling of his daughter from hand 
to hand when the winner will not have her." 

" Oh, fie ! Why swim afore you even see 
water ? Be poets' heads so dull they borrow 
all their ideas ? " 

Then onward they hurried to the palace of 
the king. 



Outside the lofty court, the poet, under 
Peter's orders, transformed himself into a 
w-retched-looking wight, ill-clad and homely. 
And, thus disguised, he played esquire to Peter, 
for Peter must needs have an attendant, as 
all knights have when cutting a dash before 
strangers. 

But good King Boli-Boli was loath to believe 
the tale. He sent a messenger in haste, and 
lo! the rock was gone, the berries were gone, 
the giant was gone, the castle was locked, and 
a name was written in the book. Yet still was 
the king loath to give the princess, Sunbeam, 
to the stunted stranger. " Forsooth," said he, 
" it was some great knight did this, whom 
roads have long delayed. Ye are but impos- 
tors come to steal the prize." 



'893 



I.ITTI.K TETKR AND THK GIANT. 



267 



Then waxeil Little Peter wroth. " laiint us father, tell me not this is the man whom 1 
not." he boUlly cried to the king's very teelii, must weil!" 

"or we will leave you as we left your craven "Silence, daughter! Affront not a greater 
giant! Here are the berries. Here is the key than all my kingdom knows — wiio dared his 
of the castle, with your royal seal and signet life for your hand. What 1 promise I perform, 
set upon it. Come, fetch us the priiuess; we Strange sir, here is my daughter — " 
have no time to waste in cavil." " Oh, Father, I cannot! Oh, sir, have pity!" 

The king was taken witii this hold talk, for she cried, turning to Little Peter — "have pity, 
he was himself a warlike man. " 'lYuly, these when my father will have none ! " 
are the proofs; and while I marvel,! must fain be- "Sweet maiden," said Little Peter, "pray 

let me have one word with thee apart." 
\li/^\ "Sir," she sobbed, "I have but one 

'' ' "^^^iS^ ii word for thee : I love another, 

a poet, and as handsome 

a youth as thou art not. 

Keep me not to this 




" ' MARRV, SIR, WHAT AILS VOUR SQUIRE?' SAID THE KING. 



lieve my eyes. My daughter and the kingdom 
are yours, brave sir. Go call the princess, page." 

Like the sunrise on a perfect day, she came : 
so fair that Little Peter's heart, which faltered 
not at giants, stood stock-still. "And yet," he 
mused, " a father would give her for a paltry 
deed!" 

But when the princess looked upon his strange 
figure, she shook and paled with fright, and, 
turning to her father, faltered pleadingly, " Oh, 



promise, for it is the poet Azair that 1 love, and 
none other can I wed." 

At this declaration, Little Peter's scarecrow 
squire leaped in air joyfully, and snapped his 
stained fingers in an ecstasy. 

"Marry, sir, what ails your squire?" said 
the king. 

" Ho! he doth scribble verse, and hankers for 
a princess's smile." Then rose Litde Peter to his 
tiptoes, and whispered low into the princess's 



268 



LITTLE PETER AND THE GL\NT. 



ear. What he said she never told ; but, blush- 
ing sweetly, she smiled with joy, and replying. 
" That I will," ran to her room, laughing. 

Little Peter gazed an instant after her, and 
spoke : '• To-morrow I will claim my bride, O 
king. Falter not at any change, however 
great, but give her to the man who here pre- 
sents this ribbon which she just now gave me 
as a plight of troth. I go to register my king- 
dom with the keeper of the seals. To-morrow 
you shall see her ready to my throne as sum- 
mer sun to shine." 

So saying. Little Peter withdrew, and saw 
the king and princess no more. He had won 
his kingdom, and rested his ambition there. 

" ' Little Great-Heart ' men will call you 
from this day on forever ! " sang the poet. 

" Ah," said Little Peter, " this ' forever ' of 
men's is a strange eternity, fair sir. They end 
it often when they change their coats. Yet I 
have touched a woman's heart with kindness, 
and there will I li\e forever. Fare thee well — 
leave your tearful poesy, and be happy." 

Bright and early, when the sun rose on the 
coming morrow, the poet, brave in his best 
suit, and bearing gaily the ribbon of his love, 
was at the court ere yet the sleepy scullions 
had washed the dishes from the breakfast of 



the king. Though the monarch did marvel 
much at the wontlrous change that seemed so 
quickly wrought, he said nothing, not he, — 
for right glad he was to have his son-in-law so 
handsome. 

As for the princess, she was all gladness, and 
grew lovelier every day, till peoi)le came for 
miles to see the house in which she lived, al- 
though she had long since moved into another 
dwelling to avoitl them. The pilgrims knew no 
better, and it did just as well. 

The old king abdicated in favor of his son- 
in-law, and the young couple were enthroned 
amid the rejoicings of their subjects 

And Little Peter, or Litde Great-Heart, as 
all loved to call him, took all his poor rela- 
tions to his far kingdom^ and gave them high 
offices ; hence he did all the work himself, as 
they \\ere prodigies of indolence. His people 
loved him so that when he told them there 
was nothing else for them to want, they be- 
lieved him, wanted notliing, and so were 
hapjjy — so happy that they gave up all com- 
munication with the outer world ; and some 
day, (ar away, the lost kingdom of Little Great- 
Heart may yet be found, with the people all 
very, very happy, and Little Peter still reigning 
over them. 




NOT SO BAD AS IT 
MIGHT BE. 



By John Kendrick Bancs. 



1 'm glad that I 'm a little lad. 

And not a pu.ssy-cat; 
And sometimes when I 'm feeling sad, 
Things do not really seem so bad 

If I just think of that. 



Till-: WllirE CAVE. 



Rv Wii.i.iAM (). SroimAkD. 




[fli-g'H/i in the No'.'eiuher iiunihcr.\ 
(.' H A P IK K \' . ( Coutittited. ) 

'Vnv. liindmost of 
the l)lack spearmen 
were disappearing 
among the trees, and 
it seemed almost safe 
for the boys to begin 
10 lead their horses 
onward ; but neither 
of them mounted 
until they had worked their way through the 
woods for about one more mile. They both 
looked and talked courageously enough, but 
they cast quick glances behind them. 

They had not been followed, as yet, and for 
very good reasons. Ka-kak-kia's enemies did 
not know there were any " white fellows," young 
or old, to follow, and were thinking only of 
killing him. After his friends heard the noise 
and came to help him, both parties in the fight 
had quite enough to think of, and so Ned and 
Hugh were entirely safe for the time being — 
and no longer. It was therefore well for the 
boys that Ka-kak-kia had fallen into difficul- 
ties, but there had been no limit to the rage 
of his own squad of black hunters when the 
work he had left them at was interrupted. All 
five of them had obeyed his orders eagerly. 
They brought the two kangaroos in from the 
prairie to the very spot from which Ned and 
Hugh had watched the throwing of the boom- 
erangs. One of them carried, among his col- 
lection of sticks, a long piece of wood which 
smoked a little and which smelled very badly. 
It was split at one end, and the spHt contained 
a bunch of leaves. While the others were skin- 
ning a kangaroo (for there was no time to dig 
a hole in the ground and roast it in their usual 
way), this warrior was whirling that stick swiftly 
around his head with one hand, and picking up 
bits of dry wood and bark and moss with the 



other. Suddenly a tongue of fire sprang out 
among the bunch of leaves in the split; for it 
was a " fire-stick," such as the black men carry 
on all their expeditions. In a moment more, 
the heap of dry fragments which he had gath- 
ered had been puffed and fanned into a blaze. 

The fire danced up merrily, and the pleasant 
odor of kangaroo venison was soon spread 
through the hot December air, when suddenly 
they all turned their heads toward the forest, 
as if startled. 

To the ears of a white man there would have 
been only silence, or that hum of insects, the 
murmur of the forest, which is almost silence ; 
but to their quicker senses there came an au- 
dible warning. Faint and far away at first, but 
drawing rapidly nearer, were the sounds of the 
skirmish between Ka-kak-kia and his pursuers. 
It was a dreadful thing to have to drop cook- 
ery and kangaroo meat, and to pick up spears, 
and throw-sticks, and shields, and waddy-clubs, 
and tomahawks, and boomerangs, but there was 
no help for it. Each man stuck down his twig 
of meat so that it would cook while he was 
gone, caught up his heap of weapons, and 
darted away into the forest. 

If there was reluctance to leave the fire, there 
was also cunning and caution in the manner of 
their advance toward the skirmish-line. The 
nearer they arrived, the clearer grew the shouts 
and yells, but the more silent they became ; and 
more like snakes in the grass, or crouching, 
creeping wild animals, did they push on. They 
might possibly have continued to keep still until 
Ka-kak-kia could retreat among them, if it had 
not been for a rash forward rush made by one 
of the enemy. He made the mistake of dis- 
playing himself, and instantly the short, withered 
fellow who had scouted through the grass to 
find the boys, stepped out from behind a tree, 
and quivered a spear in the socket of his throw- 
stick. Then it sped. Down went the too reck- 
less foeman, and all the secrecy of the arrival of 



269 



270 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Feb. 



Ka-kak-kia's friends vanished in a wild storm of 
savage outcries on both sides. 

There was no attempt made by either party 
at a hand-to-hand encounter. One side knew 
that it was altogether too weak in numbers, and 
wanted to get away, while the other did not 
know how large a majority it had, and was 
afraid to risk too much. So the queer skirmish 
of insulting shouts, and fierce gestures, and bran- 
dished spears raged among the trunks and 
bushes and underbrush, until a mile and a half 
had been slowly traversed. Nearly half the 
distance had been covered before the speared 
warrior fell. After that, spears and clubs went 
back and forth, and were in a manner exchanged; 
but both sides were experts in parrying, and 
nobody seemed to be hurt. There were, in- 
deed, a few cuts and bruises here and there, 
but nothing that an Australian savage would 
consider worth noticing. Even the speared 
man seemed to care very little for the wound in 
his shoulder after the weapon had been broken 
off and pulled out. It was, doubtless, unpleas- 
ant to be disabled, but the shoulder would heal 
up again, and the man be as ready as ever to 
throw spears and dodge and parry. His friends 
felt as he did about it, and wasted no sympathy 
upon him. 

Back, back, carefully concealing their real 
number, the smaller body fought and retreated 
toward their fire. Around the blaze the five 
sticks still stood, each holding out a steak, by 
this time well done, and ready to be eaten. 

Both parties of blacks could now smell the 
fragrance from that wild cookery, for a light 
breeze wafted it into the woods, and they all 
fought the harder and yelled the louder. They 
shook their spears more furiously, and hurled 
them farther. 

The skirmish, which had so unexpectedly be- 
gun with the first appearance of Ka-kak-kia on 
the trail, had now risen to the dignity of a great 
battle for a hot dinner; but the table-chances 
looked dark for the hunters who had actually 
stalked and killed the two kangaroos. They 
were forced to give ground, and when they 
did make a desperate charge toward the fire, 
it was too late for them to capture anything 
more than the fire and the very large, freshly 
killed kangaroo left behind, untouched, l)y 



Ka-kak-kia's fellows. That, however, was pre- 
cisely such a war-prize as suited them just 
then, better than anything else. Anybody, 
black or white, whom they might otherwise 
have chased and speared was entirely safe so 
long as an uneaten morsel of that kangaroo 
should remain. 

Meanwhile, no one knew anything about the 
red-bearded cave-man. Yet he was a very im- 
portant member of the meager population of 
that forest. He was, indeed, entirely unaware 
that there was any other population except such 
as might be following him through the moun- 
tains. He was as yet several miles away from 
his cave-home, and was plodding steadily nearer, 
but Nig was giving tokens that he had traveled 
far under a pretty heavy load. Just now, how- 
ever, the cave-man seemed to be thinking about 
finding some halting-place. 

" They are after me," he said aloud, " and 
not far behind now. The robbers! What 
would n't they do to get Nig's pack ! They 
sha'n't get it, though. Not an ounce of it. 
I don't care to have to shoot any of them, 
but they ought to be shot. They 're coming; 
I feel sure of it!" 

Then he studied the trees near him, seem- 
ing to recognize certain marks upon some of 
them. 

" I 'm pretty close to it now," he said. " I '11 
beat them this time " ; and a few minutes later 
he exclaimed, " Here it is ! " 

It was not another tree, but a swift, deep-look- 
ing stream of water, and he halted upon its bank. 
Off came the burden from the horse. The first 
part of it was a great cowhide, strung together 
at the edges with thongs, so as to make a pan- 
nier of it. It came down upon the grass, and 
was quickly ripped open. It had been a re- 
markably heavy pannier ; much heavier than 
one strong man could lift. Its contents were a 
number of small bags, some of leather and some 
of canvas. He picked them up, one after an- 
other, and carefully dropped them into the water, 
a few feet out from the bank. 

" It is only about two feet deep," he said, 
" but it will hide them." 

As soon as this secret work was com])lctcd, 
he took off Nig's saddle and bridle, and led him 
some distance into the woods. 



1893.] 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



271 



** I 've got to move quickly," he said. " They 
are close behind me. There it is. Now !" 

This time, what he was looking for and had 
found was a large tree, the ui)i)er half of which 
had somehow been knocked ofi", so that a vast 
stump was left, more than fifty feet high. At 
that elevatii)n, moreover, its branches were enor- 
mous, and it seemed to send them out all the 
more widely because of having no higher "top" 
to feed and carry. 

Saddle, and bridle, and rifle, and some other 
things were made into a pack, and that pack 
was securely fastened to one end of the same 
long, braided rope-cord with which he had 
pulled up his water-pail and lassoed the ostrich- 
hke emu at the ledge near his cave. He put a 
stone at the other end, this time, instead of a 
noose; and then he skilfully threw that stone 
over one of the lower branches of the tremen- 
dous tree-stump. 

" That 's safe," he said. " I can haul them 
up. Come, Nig, old fellow ! " 

The horse, which had carried him and his 
treasure so well, had now enjoyed a long drink 
of water. He had thrown off much of his over- 
wearied appearance, and was busily nibbling 
grass. The bare feet of the cave-man left no 
mark, but Nig's hoofs did, when the horse was 
taken by the forelock and led away from the 
foot of the stump. He did not have to go far 
before he was turned loose and left to himself. 

" There, Nig," said his master, " you may 
take care of yourself, for a while. I hope they 
won't steal you, but I suppose I have only a few 
minutes to spare, now." 

Not far from the spot where he parted from 
his horse there hung a ragged and tangled but 
strong-looking kind of vine, danghng down from 
the limb of a tree, and he ran to it at once. He 
must have been a sailor or a monkey, or else 
he had taken lessons from sailors or monkeys — 
or from blackfellows. He clambered up that 
swinging vine with a swiftness which proved 
the strength of his arms. Once in the tree, he 
went from branch to branch with an agility like 
that of the black boy who was now a prisoner 
in Sir Frederick's camp. 

There were dangerous feats to be performed, 
at perilous heights from the earth, before the 
cave-man was able to swing himself upon a 



projecting bough of the great stump. In an- 
other minute he was astride of the branch which 
had ( aught and held his rope-cord, and he was 
l)ulling up his jjrecious package, rifle and all. 

" I 'm safe enough, now," he exclaimed, as 
he clambcreil cautiously back with it to the 
huge remnant of the tree-trunk. " They won't 
guess that I am up here." 

The summit of the stump was somewhat rot- 
ten, as well as broken off", and there was a hol- 
low there more than six feet wide, and nearly as 
many deep. It was a capital place for a koala, 
or an eagle, or a runaway savage, to make a 
hidden nest in. The cave-man was neither the 
one nor the other, but there he sat, peering over 
the edge, when no less than six men on horse- 
back rode up. As they came along, they seemed 
to be searching watchfully in all directions. 
They halted at the foot of the stump. 

" His trail is plain," remarked one of them. 

"These hoof-marks are fresh," replied an- 
other. " They lead along here. He is n't far 
away, now." 

" We 've got him ! " exclaimed a third. 

The tracks of Nig's heavy hoofs did indeed 
lead away from that tree, and on pushed the six 
horsemen ; but in a minute or so they broke out 
into a chorus of astonished and angry exclama- 
tions. They had found the saddleless quad- 
ruped, feeding contentedly, while the master 
and his precious burden had mysteriously 
vanished. The clear trail which they had fol- 
lowed so far and so hopefully had at last run 
out ; and back they came, bewildered, arguing, 
perspiring, to the foot of the stump. There they 
all dismounted and sat down. 

" His hidin'-place is n't far from this, any- 
how," remarked one of them. " He has quit 
his horse." 

" Just so," said another, " and he can't get 
away from us. But what has he done with his 
nuggets ? " 

" They 're somewhere nigh to this," said 
a third, confidently. "We 're all right, boys. 
Let 's take a good rest, and eat something. All 
the stufi" he washed out of his placer-gulch is 
just waiting for us to hunt it up and take it." 

They all said more or less about being tired 
and hungry. A fire was quickly kindled, and a 
kettle put ui)on it, in a way that showed how 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Feb 



accustomed thev were to camping in the woods. 
More than half a hundred feet above their heads, 
the cave-man looked cautiously over, now and 
then, and he even chuckled almost aloud as he 
made remarks to himself concerning the perfect 
security of the manner in wliich he had hidden 
the heavy bags. 

That part of the Australian bush was becom- 
ing somewhat peopled, although not exactly 
" settled." The area within which all its known 
inhabitants, black and white, savage and civil- 
ized, had been gathered, was very narrow, how- 
ever — a mere patch in the great wilderness. 



Perhaps the top and the bottom of human 
society were fairly represented around the camp- 
fires of Sir Frederick Parry and of the black 
chief Ka-kak-kia. 

For a long time Hugh and Xed had been 
only too ready for supper, ])ut it was getting 
late before they dared take the risk of halting 
to cook. They had mounted their horses, after 
setting out from the scene of the skirmish, but 
it would not do to ride fast, for heat and thirst 
and travel were tellifig upon the poor animals. 
The boys felt a pretty strong assurance that 
they were not being pursued, just now, and 




THERE, PEERING OVER THE EDGE, WHEN SIX MEN 



They were near together, but were very much 
in the dark about one another. They might 
actually meet on the morrow, and every heart 
among them was beating with hope, or with 
dread, concerning that possible meeting. 

Chapter VI. 

THE ESCAPE OF THE COFFEE-POT. 

There were several very extraordinary picnics 
at the same hour and in the same forest. They 
were only a few miles apart from each other, but 
no one party knew anything about the others. 



that they would not be until after the rival 
bands of blackfellows should have completely 
settled whatever difficulties there might be 
between them. 

" I wish they 'd exterminate each other," said 
Ned, as they rode along. 

" That 's what they 'd like to do," said Hugh. 

The more they thought and talked about 
savages, the more they also thought and talked 
about the excursion party from the Grampians, 
and of the danger into which it was likely to 
fall. The great, gloomy forest seemed to grow 
darker, as they shivered over the cruel idea of 



'893 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



'16 



an attack by cannibals upon the camp thc\ had 
left. They felt blue ami tireil, ami almost sick 
at heart. 

At that moment Ned's horse uttered a low, 
f;unt whinny. 

Hugh's horse replied to him a little more 
loudly, and they both walked onward with a 
quickened movement. 

"I say, Ned," exclaimeil Hugh, "do you 
suppose a horse could really snift" water, if we 
were getting near it ? " 

" I 've heard that they could," said Ned. 
" Maybe it is so. Hark ! Hurrah ! Do you 
hear that ? " 

The sound which the boys now heard w-as 
a pleasant, musical murmur into which the roar 
of heavily falling water dwindled on being sifted 
and softened through a half mile of forest. Ned 
and Hugh were, indeed, going farther from the 
camp of Sir Frederick Parry with every step, 
but, at the same time, they were drawing nearer 
to a great bend of the same stream in which he 
had caught his fish. 

The forest grew more open as the eager ani- 
mals hurried forward; and the sound of the 
falling water became more distinct. It was not 
long before the boys broke out into husky 
cheers, that were followed by expressions of 
wonder. The mighty torrent plunged down 
a precipice of nearly a hundred feet, broken 
half-way by a projecting ledge, so that the 
water reached the tumbling pool below in a 
great storm of foam. There was a capital 
place, at the level edge of the great swirl, for 
a horse to put down his head, or for a boy to 
dip a cup, and they all made directly for that 
spot. 

" Now," remarked Hugh, " I don't believe the 
blackfellows are after us. Let 's make a fire 
and have supper." 

Ned was already looking around and picking 
up dry wood. There was plenty of it. In a few 
minutes a fire was blazing, not far from the pool, 
and the tired horses, unsaddled, were picking 
at the grass, while their masters were broiling 
slices of fat and tender kangaroo venison. 

Dinner, or supper, was over in the camp of 
Sir Frederick Parry, a few miles further down 
stream, and there was not one happy person in 
that camp. 

Vol. XX.— i8. 



The white people were unhappy because : 
they did not know where they were ; they 
ilid not know what had become of Ned and 
Hugh; they knew there were savages in the 
woods, and were uncertain what to do next. 

The black boy was unhappy ; chiefly because 
he was tied to a sapling near the water's edge, 
for fear he might get away and tell older black- 
fellows about the camp. 

Yip and the other dogs were uneasy con- 
cerning the black boy, and they came frequently, 
as if to make sure that he was there. 

" He cannot get away while they are watch- 
ing him," said Sir Frederick. 

" Of Qpurse he can't, sir," replied Bob Mc- 
Cracken, confidently. 

But he had been tied by white men, and he 
was a bushboy. He seemed to be quiet enough, 
except his eyes, which were dancing in all direc- 
tions. There came a moment, however, when 
his quick glances told him that no other eyes 
were upon him. He must already have been 
working at his cord fetters, for in a twinkHng 
he was down flat upon the grass. 

" Yip ! Yip ! Yip ! " yelped the large, woolly 
dog, a few seconds later, as he came bounding 
across from the other side of the camp, followed 
by the two hounds. 

" Where is that black boy ? " suddenly shouted 
Marsh, the mule-driver. 

" Where is he ? " echoed Sir Frederick. " You 
don't mean he is loose ? " 

" He 's gone ! " roared Bob. 

" Oh, dear me I " exclaimed Lady Parry. 
" Now they will all know we are here ! They 
will find the boys, too ! " 

" Aunt Maude ! " said Helen, " we must hunt 
for them till we find them I " 

There was a general rush to the spot where 
the black boy had been tied, but he was not 
there, and Yip and the hounds were snufting 
furiously along the bank of the river. 

" He 's not in the water, sir," said Bob, as he 
and the rest stared eagerly out at every bubble 
on the surface. 

There were not many bubbles to be seen, but 
a large tuft of grass and green leaves was float- 
ing down stream, not many yards below. 

Sir Frederick dashed on along the bank, fol- 
lowed by his dogs and men, but they saw no 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



274 

sign of any swimmer. They knew that even a 
black boy would have to come up to breathe ; 
that is, if he were really under the water. 

He did not have to come uji to breathe, 
however, because he was uj) all the while, 
breathing as usual, but with grass over his face, 
just as all his people breathe when they swim 
out to catch black swans and other waterfowl 
by the legs and pull them under. The tuft of 
grass floated down until the ilogs and men went 
away beyond it, and tlion it came ashore in 
some bushes. Soon, while the search along the 
bank continued, a poor little black boy, robl)ed 
by rich white men of his club and spear and all 
his other sticks, darted swiftly away into the 
forest. 

Ka-kak-kia and his five friends, across the 
prairie beyond the tall cabbage-palm, were 
compelled to finish their dinner too quickly for 
comfort. But they knew, as well as if they 
had seen it, what the other band of blackfellows 
were doing. They knew they were roasting the 
other kangaroo, and it helped them decide what 
they themselves ought to do. While their ene- 
mies were roasting and eating so large a kan- 
garoo, there would be dme for them to escape 
entirely, and to follow the two horses and the 
two white fellows from whose trail their chief 
had been driven. They picked up their sticks 
and went off through the woods. They avoided 
the prairie, making a circuit around it ; and be- 
fore dark the short, thin, ugly-headed fellow, 
who had played scout at the beginning, uttered 
a sharp, fierce yell. He had found the hoof- 
marks of the horses, and Ned and Hugh once 
more had black enemies on their trail. 

The bearded cave-man did not have any 
dinner to eat. He had nothing to do but 
to sit in the hollow of the big stump, and be 
patient. 

It was a very remarkable hollow. Upon a 
more critical examination it showed proofs of 
having been partly scooped out by human hands. 
Fires had burned in it. There were even a few 
scattered bones, to prove that meat had been 
cooked by its occupants. There was really 
hiding-room in it for half a dozen men, if they 
did not mind being crowded somewhat when 



[Feb. 



it was time for sleeping. Its present tenant 
showed no signs of being sleepy, but rather of 
an intention to sit up all night. 

The si.\ men who were camped at the foot 
of the tree had not come upon so long an errand 
without making very complete provision for it. 
They did not intend to starve, if the loads car- 
ried by two led horses would feed them. They 
made coffee and they fried bacon, and they ate, 
and all the while they chatted freely concerning 
what they expected to find. 

'• You see, boys," said the man they called 
Jim, " a runaway convict dares n't ever show 
his face again. Besides, this chap 's done a heap 
of things to answer for, since he took to the 
bush." 

" Nobody '11 ever care what we do to him," 
remarked the man they called Bill. 

" He had washed all the dust out of that 
gulch, though," said Jim; "and he won't ever 
come back to it." 

"That 's so," said another; "but we know 
he 's carried away all his nuggets out here. All 
we 've got to do is to find them. We did make 
one pretty good haul out of his pile already." 

" Come on, boys," exclaiiiied Bill, getting up 
as if that thought started him. " We can cast 
around a good deal before dark, and we can 
begin again fresh to-morrow." 

They consulted for a minute or so as to how 
they should search, and then scattered among 
the woods in several directions, 

" They have gone a-hunting after me, have 
they? "said the man in the tree up above them. 
" They are going to rob me, are they ? Well 
now, I '11 see about that. Meanwhile I want 
.some coffee." 

The searchers were already out of sight, and 
they had left their big tin coffee-pot, more than 
half full, standing before the fire. There it stood, 
simmering pleasantly, and sending up a steamy 
odor of coffee to mingle with the resinous, 
balmy breath which pervaded the woods. It 
was now almost dark. 

Something like a very long and slender and 
flexible vine came gently swinging down through 
the sultry air. This ropy thread drooped gently, 
and swung slowly back and forth until a noose 
at the end of it took in the comfortable coffee- 
pot, just under its nose and handle. 



1893] 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



275 



*' I 've got it ! " came in a sharp whisper 
from a form that reached oiii over the toii- 
most edge of the stump. " 1 '\ e gt)i it ! " 

The noose drew tight, and the cotVee-]nit 
arose as if it hatl been a kind of tin bird with- 
oM wings; it swung upward swiftly, steadily, 
silently, until it reached the ])lace from which 
that exultant whisper had come. 'I'hen it was 
grasped by the hand of the cave-man, and in 
half a minute more he was safe in his liollow, 
drinking hot cofilee out of a small tin cu|), which 
had hung at his belt. 

" Cloodl " he said. " 1 wish 1 could fish up 
some of their bacon and hardtack, but I can't. 
I '11 keep the cotTee-pot and carry it home. 
Mine is about used up. There they come!" 

The approach of dusk had put an end to the 
search, and the six rascals were making their 
way back to their camp. 

Suddenly one of them exclaimed : 

'• Hullo ! Boys, what 's become o' the 
coftee-pot? ' 

Then live astonished voices, on all sides of 
him, inquired : " Why, where is it ? " 

High in the deepening darkness above them 
a man, peering over the edge of a tree-hollow, 
took a long, refreshing draft froiji a steaming 
tin cup, and said to himself, with a chuckle : 

"It has walked away, coffee and all, you 
villains! Don't you wish you may get it 
again ? " 

Suddenly one of the men exclaimed : 

••' Blackfellows ! Nobody else could ha' crep' 
in and taken it ! " 

" Blackfellows ? We '11 all be speared if we 
don't keep a sharp lookout ! " 

They talked it over w'ith occasional shivers, 
as they mentioned spears and boomerangs ; but 
when their talk was over their conclusion came 
from Jim. 

'■ Boys," he said, " our only show is to shoot 
'em if we find 'em." 

All six agreed to that, but the man in the 
tree said to himself: 

" The worst thing they could do ! Just like 
their sort, though. Anyhow, I can't stay here; 
and it 's dangerous climbing in the dark. I '11 
try it before the fire goes out." 

There was as yet a good blaze, sending its 
glow quite a distance. Any one near the fire 



could not see far into the forest, but one out in 
the gloom could profit by the firelight. The 
bearded cave-man now hail his rille slung at his 
back, SI) that his hands were free. His coil of 
rope-cord was hung over the rifie, and he crept 
slowly, carefully, out of his hiding-place, along 
the tree-limb. 

" This is risky ! " he muttered. " Sure death 
if 1 miss my hold, sure death if they catch a 
glimpse of me! I wish they 'd made their 
camp somewhere else. Then I could wait 
until morning." 

As it was, there seemed to be no heljj for it. 
On he crept, until that bough became small and 
began to bend. What if it should break ? He 
had no help from the firelight, just there, and 
he groped anxiously out in the dark. 

"I 've got it!" he said. "Careful, now, — 
here goes ! " and soon he was on a limb of an- 
other tree, and it was also bending. 

It was a fearful undertaking, but he reached 
the trunk of that tree and went out on a limb 
in the opposite direction. 

" This '11 do," he muttered ; " I won't try 
another change of trees. It can't be more than 
thirty or forty feet to the ground. 'I'he rest 
is easy." 

It seemed to be so, to him, but it might have 
been difficult for most men. All he did was 
to seat himself firmly in a loop that he made at 
one end of the rope ; put the rest of the rope 
over to the other side of the limb he was on, 
and gripe it hard; swing off and let himself 
down, hand over hand ; reach the ground, and 
pull down the rope that remained. It was a 
regular sailor's-hitch performance, precisely as 
if that limb had been a yard of a ship. It 
landed him still dangerously near to the camp 
at the stump, where five men were now lying 
down while one was pacing slowly around as a 
sentinel. 

Silently and swiftly the cave-man made his 
way from tree to tree, still guided for some 
time by the firelight. Here and there, as he 
groped his course, the forest was open enough 
for him to see the stars and the moonlight in 
the tree-tops. 

" The stars tell me very nearly which way 
I 'm going," he said to himself 

The five men who were lying on the ground 



276 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



around the stump were as yet as wide awake as 
was their sentinel. Every now ami then, one 
of them said something to his mates about 
cotfee-pots, convicts, bushrangers, poHce, gold 
nuggets, wild blackfellows, boomerangs, and 
other matters, which seemed to be keeping him 
from going to sleep. 

Ned Wentworth and Hugh Parry had not 
been lucky enough to secure a coffee-pot, and 
they were not where they could borrow one 
from any neighbor. In fact, they did not know 
that they had any neighbors. 

" I wish I knew how that fight ended," said 
Hugh, " and what those lilackfellows did after- 
ward." 

"They could n't all have been killed," re- 
plied Ned, as he put more wood on the fire. 
" I guess, though, they all had so much fight 
that they won't follow us in the dark. Sha'n't 
we keep watch, one at a time ?'' 

" Of course," said Hugh. " I '11 watcli half 



the night, and then I '11 wake you and you can 
watch the other half." 

" Sailor watches are better than that," said 
Ned. " It 's nearly eight o'clock now. I '11 
keep guard till ten, then you watch till twelve. 
That will give us two-hour naps." 

" All right," declared Hugh, and down he lay, 
just as if he expected to go to sleep; but his 
eyes remained wide open. 

Two hours went by. The roar of the water 
began to have something drowsy in it. Ned 
sat at the foot of a tree with his double-bar- 
reled gun in his lap, and Hugh may have been 
almost dreaming. The fire had burned low. 
All seemed dull, still, peaceful, and safe, when 
suddenly both of the boys sprang to their feet, 
exclaiming : 

"What 's that?" 

" Ready, Hugh ! " sang out Ned, " Ready 
with your gun. Here they come!" 

"Ready!" shouted Hugh. "Stand your 
ground, Ned ! We must fight ! " 




'KEADV! SH(JlTEU HLGH. 'STAND VOIR flKOl NO, NliU! WK MIST FIGHT 

( To he contiiiueii. ) 



rill" LAMENT OF I'OLLY CLA: 

SHOWING HOW ir CAME ABOU 1" THAI" SHK PLUCKED OFF HER FEATHERS. 

./ BallaJ of ihe Oriatt. 



Bv H. I. H. 



Pari 'I'iik First. 







//^/| 




Wherein Polly Cla makes brief mention of the explo- 
rations of her Cireat Grandfather, and of the disastrous 
termination of his expedition, about the time of her birth, 
— gi\ang also some episodes of her early life. 



DiiAR Edie, now I know 
you well 
And the discreetness 
of your ways, 
I have a confidence to 
tell 
Relating to my early 
days. 

Although, alas, you see 
me now 
All plucked and in 
this sad condition, 
You must not think that 
I would bow 
To any Polly for po- 
sition. 

My parents came of 
noble stock, 
Of pure white plume 
and sulphur crest; 
And I was early taught 
to mock 
And screech and chat- 
ter from the nest. 



-;# 







My Great Grandfather, old Koko, 

Once marshaled all his feathered bands, — 

Some twenty score of beaks or so, — 
To raid for fruit in foreign lands. 

Away ! Away ! O'er Celebes 

And where the cloves and spices grow, 



Through pleasant groves of cocoa- trees 
He led them on from Borneo. 

\\'ilh plantains and with mangoes sweet, 
And nutmegs young by way of spice, 

They had jjrovision quite complete 
(Without destroying growing rice). 

But tamarinils and cocoanuts 

That grow in plenty on the trees 

Surrounding the Malayan huts. 
They eat or ruined most of these. 

And it is much to Koko's praise 

That, safe from snares and cunning wiles, 

He led them south for many days 
Among the Australasian Isles. 

In sooth he was a skilful chief. 
And had his famous name to lose, 

As well as — if they came to grief — 
Four hundred crested cockatoos. 

To Bali town he led them now. 

And passed where lofty Lombock stood. 

And 'neath Sumbawa's craggy brow 
Down to the Isle of Sandalwood. 

And then southeast o'er sea they passed, 
And arid plains where water fails, 

Till, wearied out with travel fast, 

They reached the land of New South Wales. 

But here they left their leader dead — 
Black ruffians through the forest sprang: 

Old Koko's crest was dyed with red, 
Struck by the flying boomerang! 



278 



Oh I 't was a cruel sight to see 
The shocking fate of (Irandi)apa ! 

That boomerang brought grief to me, 
And trouble sore to dear Mama. 



THE LAMENT OF POLLY CLA. 



[FEa 





"struck bv the flying boomerang." 

She was not with the army, so 

An aide-de-camp was soon despatched. 

Who brought the news to Borneo 
About the time that I was hatched. 

I heard her screeches in the egg, — 
How it could be I cannot tell, — 

As, nestled warm beneath her leg. 
Her cry of anguish pierced my sliell. 

The next thing that 1 rc( ollect, 
And that is painful to relate, 

Kre 1 could barely stand erect, 
A sad adventure sealed my fate. 

Mama had gone to preen her crest 
And get some breakfast for her dear, 

When, looking up above the nest, 
I saw a round black head appear. 




"l SAW A ROUND BLACK HEAD APPEAR." 

Two eager eyes were shining bright — 
I well recall the look the}- wore ; 

With sudden hand he seized me tight, 
That naughty little ])lackamore ! 

He took me to his dirty hut. 
And dipt me lest 1 'd tly away; 

He gave me rice and cocoanut, 
And tried to make me talk Malay. 

I Uved there till some Dyak men 
Destruction to our village brought. 

The sad events that hai)pened then 
Demand a little time for thought. 

My shadow straight beneath my feet 
Reminds me that the day is high. 

With rest and — something nice to eat, 
1 might continue by and by. 

Part The Second. 

Refening to tlie marriage of Polly Cla and ihe niel- 
anclioly fate of her husb.and — with her resolve there- 
upon. 

1"HE cruel Dyaks swept along. 

Committing deeds of carnage dire, — 

A savage band five hundred strong ; 
Our forest glades were red with fire! 

I now was free — the hut was burned — 
And all our people fled in haste ; 

Whichever way my gaze was turned, 
The spoiled land was sad and waste ! 



1893] 



TIIK LAMKNT OK I'Ol.l.V CI.A. 



279 



The sweets of liberty, 't is said, 
Excel the joys of i);uiii)ere(l slaves ; 

But to be free ami badly t\:i\ 

Is only sweet to one who raves. 

I strugLjletl hard my food to win 

Of blackened bits and odds and ends; 

The cinder-heaps I found them in 
Were once the houses of ni)- friends. 

My wings were stiff from want of use, 
I Hew with feeble flight and slow, 

Which furnished me with some excuse 
For further stay in Borneo. 

But soon I left that hated shore 
To wander free in southern lands. 

Where loved to roam in years before 
Old Koko and his raiding bands. 

I wandered (ar, by fancy led ; 

My star was high, my heart was free; 
I lost my heart when I was wed, 

But got one back from Silver Bee. 

Proudly he held his crested head. 

He moved his well-curved beak with grace ; 

Two gentle eyes of ruby red 

Shone radiant from his feathered face. 

For twenty years my mate and I 

Through sunlit pleasures wandered on — 

Would I could lay me down and die ; 
The sunlight from my life has gone ! 

I care not to recount the doom 

Which met at length poor Silver Bee : 

A dreadful sentence, shaped in gloom, 
Robbed me of him by Fate's decree. 

My better senses from that hour 
With his sweet spirit fled away ; 

Bereft of my linguistic power, 
I even ceased to talk Malay ! 

The crystal sea, the tropic flowers. 
The fragrance of the sunny grove. 

The peace of calm, reposeful hours. 
Soft visions of the isles I love 

No more for me — but bitter hate 
Enduring till my life be done, 

* Although some allowance is to be made for Polly Cla's feelings 
at this point, her language at this point is not to be praised. 

t The cautious historian, while admitting Polly Cla's narrative into 
his pages, thus far, may be excused for exercising discretion on the 



Of those who slew my gentle mate 
And left me in the world alone! 

Those Isles were meant for cockatoos. 

Black iuips (whose ghosts may Allah slay!) 
Came paddling round in bark canoes. 

And stole our heritage away.* 

As lovelorn maidens take the veil 

For sorry solace of their woe, 
I vowed to pluck my wings and tail, — - 

I vowed to let my freedom go' 




From thfcse bright scenes I loved so well 
I hastened with the morning dew, 

Alighting, ere the evening fell, 
Where reigns the Sultan of Sulu. 

There, reckless of myself and pride, 

I plucked the feathers from my wings, t 

Resolved to wait what might betide — 
Chance oft decides the fate of kings. 

subject referred to. Polly Cla may possibly have allowed her love 
of romance and a desire to excuse herself to lead her into a misstate- 
ment ; for the bird-fancier tells me her bad habit is the result of too 
much rich food. 



28o 



THE LAMENT OF POLLY CLA. 



[Feb. 



Now, how She. ruled ami what befell 
Is naught to me while sorrow burns; 

But if you care to hear me tell, 
Wait till my gentler mood returns. 

Part The Third. 

Which treats of Polly Cla's subsequent history and trav- 
els ; of her arrival in Nagasaki, and some humiliating 
experiences there until her high station was at length 
fully recognized and fitting accommodation provided. 




"they sold me for a goose, one day, to Portuguese antonio. 



An aged man with bended head 

Came to an open door to pray. 
Bowed low, and with his hands outspread 

Made reverence to the breaking day. 

Sprung from Mohammed's chosen line, 
His gaze was fixed, his prayer intent 

To distant Mecca's sacred shrine. 
To Allah and his Prophet sent. 

His orisons performed, he 
turned 
And raised me with a 
pitying eye. 
May Allah grant this merit 
earned 
May serve him when he 
comes to die ! 

He owned a dhow, with 
thrifty toil, 
That traded to this distant 
post 
And took back sandalwood 
and oil. 
And pilgrims for the Red 
Sea coast. 

The sea was high, the wind 
was chill, 
I watched the laughing 
billows roll, — 
They tossed us freely at 
their will. 
And in the region of 
my — soul 

I grew so sick I should 

have died. 

But passing close to 

Singapore, 

Tlie pious Moslem lost a tide 

To put a seasick bird ashore. 



I SAT there, with the lonely moon 
Slow traversing the rounded sky; 

Damp breezes from the dark lagoon 
Blew chiller as the day drew nigh. 

When morning tinged tlie sky with gold, 
There, shivering on the dewy ground. 

Day broke on me, forlorn and cold. 
With all my scattered feathers round. 



Now there I had not long to wait, 

Because my journey to Japan 
Was ordered by propitious Fate, 

And by an honest sailorman. 

From him 1 learned your tongue to speak 
Andshout out, "Hip! Hip! Hip! Hurray!' 

With outspread wings and open beak. 
This charmed the tedium of the way. 



i8g3- 



THE LAMENT OF POLLY CLA. 



281 



We sailed with the soiiilieast monsoon. 
Heaven favoring our httle skiff, 

And on the thirteenth day at noon 
Passed Takaboka's noted ( hff. 

Anchoreil in Nagasaki Bay, 

My pride received a fatal blow: 

They sold me for a goose one day 
To Portuguese Antonio. 



To (hange me for a frying pan. 
In barter with a native bnnvn, 

Who worked in tin — a kindly man 
Of Nagasaki native town. 

Near Deshima, where dwell the Dutch, 
He kept me hanging at his tloor; 

I i)ined within a rabbit-hutch, 

And plucked my feathers more and more ! 




"he changed me for a frying-pan." 



With only rice to fill my crop, 

Chained by the leg, in grief profound. 

Behind Antonio's printing-shop 

My screeching woke the echoes round. 

But soon, regretful of the goose, 
Antonio, bent on further trade, 

Found frivolous and mean excuse 
In the indignant cries I made. 



The sultry days passed one by one. 

And I was Httle understood ; 
The pleasant autumn had begun. 

When, passing by in thoughtful mood, 

Your father, guessing my degree 

And hoping that my plumes would grow. 
For eight round dollars purchased me — 

The cockatoo of Borneo ! 



282 



THE LAMENT OF TOLLY CLA. 



My pretty cage and bamboo stand. 
This bungalow in which we dwell, 

Though distant from my native land, 
Beseem mv high condition well. 



My wanderings and my tale are done ; 

I hope in peace to end my days 
Where yours have happily begun 

^\'ith winning smiles and pretty ways. 



I shall remember till I die 

(For no one gave me food all day), 
I thought I heard a kitten cry, 

That sleeping on some pillows lay. 



Leam, little maiden, from my wail, 
The sorrows of a widowed life ; 

Ne'er listen to a lover's tale. 
And never, never be a wife. 










\>ss 



\' 



" I.EARN, LITTLE MAIDEN, FROM MY WAIL, 
THE SORROWS OF A WIDOWKD LIFE." 



Such creatures then were new to me. 

I gave a soft, inquiring mew. 
Uncertain what the thing could be — 

That " kitten," Edie dear, was you ! 



Learn further — though with grief and smart 
The journey of your life be ])ast, 

To those who keep a steadfast heart 
A pleasant haven comes at last. 



HOW JANKT DID IT. 



1!V KxillAklM. l'"i:sTF.TI IS. 



Thfy had been out all the afternoon riding 
together about the ranch, Janet on her little 
thoroughbred chestnut, her father on his big 
red-roan. They were just thinking of turning 
homeward, w-hen sudilenly a great tram]jling 
sound, as of hundreds of hoofs, was heard 
behind them, and the whole vast herd of half 
wild cattle came plunging clumsily up the bank 
from the river-pasture, urged on by the mounted 
herdsmen, who were still out of sight below. 

Janet's fiither started, and gave a quick glance 
of alarm over his shoulder: he had nothing with 
which to face the great, bellowing, stamping 
drove but his slender riding- whip. Janet's face 
grew white with terror. She crowded her litde 
filly close up to her father's horse. 

"Oh, Papa ! They will be on us! They wjll 
trample us to death ! " she cried. 

Her father's lips were pale and set. " Watch 
me, Janet," he said in a low, stressful voice. 
" Do exactly as I do." 

Then, straightening himself in his saddle and 
tightening his rein, he touched his horse with 
the whip, put him sharply at the gray adobe 
wall, which rose a few rods in front of them, 
and vaulted over in a flying leap. 

Janet's heart stood still with dread. Death 
behind and death before threatened her in one 
wild flash of fear. She had been accustomed to 
riding ever since she could remember, but she 
had never dreamed of attempting a feat like 
this. Beyond that wall she knew a deep ditch 
lay. Could "Firefly" take them both? And 
could Janet hold her seat while the filly did it ? 

Thought is swifter than lightning. Even as 
that wild fear flashed through the child's mind, 
the answering assurance flashed back — " Papa 
knows I " and in the same instant she herself, 
braced firmly in her little Mexican saddle, the 
reins clutched tightly in her small fingers, was 
bounding over the wall, over the trench, and, 
in a moment, landing safe at her father's side, 



with Firefly's slim l)Ia(k legs only (juivering a 
little. 

" Brava, my daughter! Brava. Firefly ! W ell 
done, both of you ! " exclaimed her father, the 
color coming back to his face. " I knew you 
would follow if I led, and Jove! it was the 
only thing to do. Look at those beasts now, 
on the other side 1 " 

Janet lifted her face from where she had 
hidden it against her father's arm, and looked. 
The whole inclosure seemed one cloud of fly- 
ing hoofs, horns, and tails. She shuddered, and 
hid her eyes again upon her father's shoulder. 
He put his arm fondly around her. 

"Why, you 're not going to keep on being 
scared now it 's all over!" he said with a laugh 
that was not quite steady. " Plucky little girl ! 
good little girl! — to mind papa so! I never 
meant to give you such a neck-or-nothing jump 
for a first lesson ; but now you '11 never be afraid, 
and you shall go out with the hounds some day 
at papa's side, and the master of the hunt shall 
present you with the brush." 

"Oh, papa! shall I?" cried Janet, looking 
up with a radiant face. "And ride with you 
everywhere, and not have to stay in the house 
so much with only Cousin Ann and Pepita ? 
I get so tired of Cousin Ann and Pepita ! " 

Her father did not wonder much as he 
thought of the tall, prim, maiden lady who 
had consented to come out to the far Pacific 
slope to take charge of his widowed home, but 
who evidently had no afifinity for children. 
Pepita, too, Janet's lazy httle half-breed atten- 
dant, with a complexion like the bananas she 
was always munching, and great black eyes 
that seemed to make up half her face, — she, he 
knew, cared nothing for play, or for the long 
rambles about the ranch, in which her young 
mistress found pleasure. She liked nothing so 
well as to lie curled up on the grass in the 
shadow of a wall, and pull down great bunches 



283 



284 



HOW TAXET DID IT. 



[Feb. 



of purple grapes, holding her mouth wide open 
and letting the winy globes pop one by one 
into it. Dull companions both, he was well 
aware, for his all-alive little girl, but he did not 
know what better to do for her, and all he said 
now was, with a little laugh : 

"Well, we must be getting back to the house, 
anyhow, or we shall be late for supper; and 
you know Cousin Ann does n't like us to be 
late for supper." 

"There are so many things Cousin Ann 
does n't like I " said Janet, naively. " But 
come — we '11 have to go round the long 



some time for the little girl. But not just yet — 
in another year, perhaps. 

Meanwhile, Janet spent half her days in the 
saddle, riding over the wild country at her 
father's side, and coming to think no more of a 
flying leap over wall or ditch than he did him- 
self He had fulfilled his promise of taking her 
with him after the hounds, and Janet had had 
a royal time at first. She had been welcomed 
with merry surjirise by the other huntsmen, had 
dashed off at the start as gaily as any of them, 
and kept the pace as bravely as the best hunts- 
man of them all. The mad gallop over hill and 



^■k^^^^ykA 




•^ 



^£^ 










c^&^i^ 



v,,. 



:^lv 



\v 










THE ESCAPE FROM THE STAMPEDE. 



way now, won't we ? and for that, I '11 forgive 
the cattle. Come ! " and touching her chestnut 
with her little whip, she cantered gaily off Avith 
a saucy challenge for a race. 

Her father galloped after her, smiling, but 
in his heart he felt grave. He knew better 
than Janet how great was the peril they had 
escaped, and he was touched to the core by 
his little daughter's unquestioning trust in him. 
What a comfort, what a happiness, she was to 
him, now that her mother was gone ! How 
could he bear to part with her, too ? And yet 
he knew that he must, for her own sake : this 
wild, free, untutored life must come to an end 



plain, the swift bound over hedge or branch, 
the mellow baying of the hounds, the shrill call 
of the horns, all made her tingle with joyous 
excitement, and brought the color to her cheek, 
the sparkle to her eye. It was glorious fun for 
a while; but presently, when Janet caught sight 
of the poor fox, hunted to his death, and taking 
to the open in desperation, — when she saw the 
savage dogs rush upon him as he labored along 
with gasping breath and piteous yelping, and 
heard them snarling and grinding their fangs, 
the little girl's cheek turned white ; she felt 
fairly sick with horror and pity, and turning 
Firefly about, she rode away homeward so fast 



"893 ] 



now JANET Din IT. 



285 



that her father, half amused, half touched, could 
scarcely overtake her. Kven the presentation 
of the " l)rush " by the master of tiie hounds 
could not restore her spirits; and Janet's first 
fox-hunt was her last. 

Not a great while after this, Janet's father 
was summoned Kast on business, and, stimu- 
lated by Cousin Ann's frecjuently expressed 
disapproval of " such goings on for a girl," he 
brought himself to the point of deciding to take 
the child with him, meaning to leave her in tlie 
charge of his sister, who lived in a large city, 
to grow up with her cousins and learn the 
things a young lady ought to know. Janet did 
not cpiite know whether she wanted to go or 
not. She had been very happy in this wild, 
free life with her father ; she did not like the 
idea of separation from him ; but the thought 
of a long journey, of new places to see, of the 
wonders of a great city, and, above all, the pros- 
pect of being with other girls, stimulated her 
imagination, and promised all sorts of pleasur- 
able possibilities. 

Besides, papa wished it, and she was going 
with him ; so when the time of departure ar- 
rived, she bade a cheerful good-by to the old 
life, and went off smilingly, with a promise to 
Cousin Ann to learn how to walk (hitherto 
that motion had been too dull for her), and to 
Pepita to bring her the biggest bead necklace 
she could find, when she came home. 

Hard as it was to see her father return 
without her, she entered cheerfully upon the 
new life, and promptly fell in love with her 
aunt and every one of her cousins. There were 
four of these : Edith, a young lady already in 
society; Laura, who was to " come out" during 
the winter; Evelyn, about her own age; and 
Nan, some two years younger. Her aunt was 
not wealthy, but she lived well, in a handsome 
house, and saw a good deal of company ; and 
each of the girls had her own set of young 
companions, who seemed to be coming and 
going constantly. Evelyn's little girl friends all 
called in due form upon the " cousin from 
the West"; and Janet, who had never made 
or received a call in her life, was very shy at 
first, and did not have much to say. But she 
listened so well, and looked so bright and inter- 
ested in what the others were talking about. 



that .she was voted "a dear" from the be- 
ginning, and taken into things at once. 

Her aunt gave a "pink luncheon" in her 
honor; other entertainments followed; she was 
taken here and there to " see the sights," and, 
altogether, the first week or two in her new 
home l)rought a succes.sion of fresh delights to 
the little girl from the lonely ranch. 

But when the time came for Janet to go to 
s( h(K)l, she did not find things so pleasant. It 
was not the confinement, though that was 
strange and irksome; it was not the lessons, 
though she had never l)een trained to study : 
but Janet was mortified to discover that she 
could not be placed in the class with Evelyn or 
her friends ; that she did not know as much of 
arithmetic or grammar as even little Nan ; and 
she was put to the blush every day by her igno- 
rance of things that seemed to be quite familiar 
to other children. 

At the house it was the same thing. All her 
cousins played some instrument, danced, drew, 
embroidered, chattered to each other in French 
or German. Janet could do none of these 
things, though she knew the seed-time and 
blossoming of every flower in her wilderness 
home, and could whistle like a lark amid the 
w'heat. She could ride like a vaquero, run like 
a deer; but she had never learned her "steps," 
and to make a courtesy such as Evelyn's was 
an unknown art. 

Janet presently began to think herself a very 
ignorant, insignificant little body, and the rue- 
ful thought came often that she need not have 
been quite such a little savage if she had been 
willing to learn even what Cousin Ann could 
have taught her. 

" It serves me right," she said whimsically 
to herself; " and all I can do now is to go to 
w'ork my very hardest to make up for lost time. 
For it is n't a bit pleasant to be unlike every- 
body else ! " 

She felt this specially when, about Christmas- 
time, everybody was busy with some pretty 
mysterious trifle, to be kept a great secret, 
while she could not so much as work an initial 
upon a handkerchief; and afterward still more, 
when the time for church fairs and all manner 
of undertakings for charitable purposes came 
in their turn. 



!S6 



HOW TANET DID IT. 



[Feb. 



The church which her aunt attended had 
started a plan for a free kindergarten and day- 
nursery to which poor working-women might 
bring their little children and leave them to be 
cared for while they were away at their daily 
labor. It was a beautiful charity, the salvation 
of helpless little ones from untold miseries, and 
the ladies of the congregation had taken it up 
enthusiastically. 
All sorts of ways 
and means were 
devised for rais- 
ing the necessary 
amount ; every- 
body appeared 
to *be suddenly 
busy in behalf 
of the new en- 
teq^rise. All of 
Janet's cousins 
were working 
ardently for it. 
Edith was paint- 
ingchina; Laura 
practising for a 
parlor musical ; 
Evelyn was em- 
broidering a lun- 
cheon-set for a 
bazar: even lit- 
tle Nan, whohad 
decided talent 
for declaiming, 
was to come 
forth upon a 
platform at a 
school enter- 
tainment, and 
recite " Robert 

o' Lincoln"; and she went about the house, 
chirping " Spink, spank, spink !" with an air of 
conscious imjjortance. 

Poor Janet! she could neither paint nor play, 
work art-stitches nor declaim. All she could do 
was to fight down certain very human little im- 
pulses of envy and jealousy, and show only a 
genuine and cordial interest in the performances 
of the others. Perhaps this was as great an 
achievement in the eyes of the angels, but Janet 
would never have thought of that to comfort 



herself withal ; and her poor little heart was 
sore within her many a time, when, because of 
her own ignorance, she found herself "left out 
in the cold." 

Her aunt noticed one evening, coming in 
upon the group of girls laughing and chatter- 
ing over their work, that the little stranger's 
eyes had a depressed and wistful look in them, 




"the colonel drew out a shining double eagle." 

and the wish to give her a pleasure came into 
her mind. 

" Come, Edith," she said, " it is time for you 
to get ready : and Janet, you may go and put 
your things on, too." Then, as the others 
oi)ened their eyes wide, she added : "It is the 
evening of the ' (irand Etpiestrian Entertain- 
ment ' at the riding-school, for the benefit of 
the kindergarten, you know, and I have taken 
two tickets. The riding-school is an old story 
to us, l)ut it will l)e something new to Janet, so. 



1893] 



HOW JANET DID IT. 



287 



as we were going in company with friends any- 
how, vou won't need me tor a chajjeron, Kilith. 
ami 1 think 1 '11 stay at home and let her go in 
my plaic. WoiiUl you like it, little girl? " 

Janet looked up eagerly. The very word 
r/V////^!,'- brought a vivid light to her face. How 
long it seemed since she hatl had a gallop with 
Firelly ! How she would love to look in on 
Firefly in her stall this very minute, pat her 
silken neck, and give her a handful of sugar or 
a big Tampino ajjple ! The tears wanted to 
come as she thought of her pretty comrade, 
feeling lonely, probably, like herself. She 
jumped up to hide them, and said quickly : 

"Oh, yes, indeed. Aunt Adelaide! I should 
love to go, and 1 '11 be ready in just a minute." 

Half an hour later, when they had arrived 
at the riding-school, and the party with whom 
they came were going up to take their seats 
in the gallery, which was already crowded with 
spectators, Edith said to her cousin : 

"Janet, if you Uke, you may stay down here 
with me instead of going up there with stran- 
gers. You can help me with my habit, and I 
think it will be better fun for you to be more 
in the midst of the riding." 

"Oh, yes, it will, Edith! " said Janet, happy 
already at the mere sight of horses and riders 
again. Edith was one of the pupils of the 
academy, and was to be among the riders this 
evening. She went at once to the dressing- 
room to put on her habit, Janet with her, and 
when they came back, the great tan-covered 
ring was already dotted with equestrians, pac- 
ing their horses to and fro, antl Edith's pretty 
sorrel mare was waiting for her at the entrance, 
in charge of a groom. 

Janet watched her wistfully as she mounted 
and trotted off to join the others, and she 
looked on with curious interest when the exer- 
cises began. The sight of the beautiful horses, 
their sleek coats glistening, and the riders in 
their faukless habits putting them through their 
paces, set the child's heart to beating, and 
yet — "What mild litde paces they are!" she 
could not help thinking. It seemed merely 
playing at riding, this ambling and cantering 
round and round a track as smooth as a car- 
pet ; and even when the exhibidon of special 
feats began, the running and leaping over poles 



or Hags held across by attendants, the little 
ranch-maiden had to bite her lips to keep from 
smiling at the way in whi( h the obstacle was 
lowered to make the jump easy while yet 
appearing dillicull. She thought of her own 
wild gallops across country. 

" Why, Firefly herself would laugh if she 
were here ! " she thought merrily. " Bless her 
little heart ! how I wi.sh she were, and they 'd 
give me a chance to put her over a hurdle ! 
She 'd show them something worthy of their 
shouts and clapi)ing ! " 

For all the throng of spectators in the gal- 
leries seemed to think the feats of the young 
horsewomen something wonderful. I'hey held 
their breath with real dread as one and another 
came cautiously up to the jump, and when 
safely landed on the other side, the loud bursts 
of applause rang to the very roof, the mamas 
and papas exchanged glances of pride, and 
threw bouciuets down to their blushing daugh- 
ters; while their young cavaliers, watching 
them admiringly from the doorways, gathered 
gallantly around the horses as they came trot- 
ting back, and overwhelmed the riders with 
compliments. 

Janet, standing in the midst of a group at 
one of the entrances, looked on wondering and 
amused ; and, presently, a htde unconscious rip- 
ple of merriment broke from her lips at the 
excitement caused by a rather scrambling leap 
over what appeared to her a very modest little 
obstacle. Old Colonel Archer (the father of 
one of Edith's fellow-pupils), in whose charge 
Janet had l)een left, turned and looked at her 
with a twinkle of fun beneath his l)ushy gray 
eyebrows. 

" Jumping made easy, you think, eh ? " said 
he. " But could you do it any better yourself, 
my Httle miss ? " 

Janet colored at the abrupt infjuiry, but — 
"I 'm afraid 1 could, sir!" she answered whim- 
sically. 

The old gentleman looked at her curiously. 

" Why," he said, " you are but a youngster. 
Do you know how to ride ? Did you ever 
jump over a hurdle, for instance?" 

" Not hurdles, exactly," answered Janet, inno- 
cently, "but fences, ditches, walls — anything 
that came in our way, when my papa and I 



288 



HOW TANET DID IT. 



{Feb. 



used to be out riding together. We live in 
the West, on a ranch, you know, when we are 
at home." 

'• Well ! " exclaimed the colonel, much amused. 
'• That 's refreshing. Anything that came in 
their way, she says. Ha, ha ! Well, now, 1 '11 
tell you what I '11 do, little Miss Di Vernon. 
This performance is one of your charitable af- 
fairs, I believe; we all want to do as much as 
we can for the good cause. Now, if you '11 
mount a horse and take a shy at that thing 
they 're bringing in over there — do you see?" 

Janet looked as he pointed toward the oppo- 
site entrance, where some men were bringing in 
a five-barred gate, some six feet high, and set- 
ting it up across the track. 

"Well? "she asked. 

" Well, if you '11 make your words good and 
take it clean, I '11 give you this for your special 
contribution to the thingumbob." He put his 
hand in his pocket and drew out a shining 
double eagle. " It came to me in the way of 
business to-day, and I hate to be bothered with 
gold coin. Now what do you say ? " 

Janet's heart gave a great leap. What ? 
Could she truly help so much as that toward a 
home for the poor httle helpless children ? She, 
the good-for-nothing ! She looked at the colo- 
nel with eyes that sparkled. 

" Do you really mean it ? " she cried. " Oh, 
if I might only have the chance I " 

Just then her cousin came trotting up to 
them, and signed to a groom to take her horse. 

" I 'm going up to the dressing-room a min- 
ute, Janet," she said. " My hair is all tumbling 
down. You need n't come. The gentlemen are 
going to do some big jumping ; you '11 like to 
see it." 

" There ! " said the colonel, as the young 
lady gathered up her habit and tripped away. 
"There 's your chance now. Take your cousin's 
horse." 

His face and voice were full of mischievous 
meaning. Even the colonel's best friends said 
he was nothing but a grown-up boy, and when 
anything promised to amuse him, he was apt to 
forget everything else in the prospect of fun. 
And there was a touch of excitement which 
he liked in testing the pluck of this self-confi- 
dent little maid. 



" Come," he repeated, in a challenging tone. 
" Shall I put you up ? " 

Just at that moment there was a sudden 
movement of retreat among the groups that 
.stood about the doorways, for a couple of 
horsemen, booted and spurred, came galloping 
along the course from the opposite side, speed- 
ing their steeds for the difficult leap. On they 
dashed, faster and faster, the spectators watch- 
ing and holding their breath, till the goal was 
reached, when one of the horses deliberately 
turned tail and galloped back again, while the 
other went plunging over, neck or nothing, in a 
scrambling jump, sending the topmost bar rat- 
ding down in front of him, but landing safe on 
the farther side. 

A great shout went up, half laughter, half 
applause ; and Janet, turning breathlessly to the 
colonel, said : 

" Oh, do you truly think Edith would n't 
mind ? I do so want to earn that money ! " 

" Mind ? No. Why should she ? " was the 
reckless answer. " It won't hurt the mare ; 
she has good blood in her. It won't hurt you, 
either; you see the rails are made loose on 
purpose so as to let you over anyhow if you 
happen to hit 'em 1 " 

" But I sha'n't hit 'em ! " said Janet, with a 
merry nod, and taking his word simply as she 
was wont to take her father's. " Put me up 
quick, please," she added. 

The colonel promptly hollowed his hand ; 
Janet touched her little foot to it, and sprang 
lightly into the saddle; a pat of the sorrel's 
arching neck, a coaxing word into the quivering 
ear, and away they went, Janet's long, wavy, 
dark hair fluttering out from beneath her scarlet 
" Tam o' Shanter" with the breeze of the flying 
motion. 

The colonel suddenly felt his heart fail within 
him, 

" What a madman I was to put such a child 
up to so crazy an undertaking ! " he said to him- 
self in dismay, staring desperately after horse 
and rider. "What — what, if anything should 
happen ! " 

Powerless now- to hel]) or hinder, he could 
only watch with the watching multitude, as the 
high-mettled mare, recognizing the touch of a 
practised hand, bounded onward like a deer, 



1893.1 



Mow ia\i:t did it. 



289 

quickenin. her pace as they reached the goal. The amazed questions flew from one to 
I hen asw.t gathenng ol herself together in another around the eager throng, but none 
response to her ruler stouclK a brave leap into c oul.l answer. Even the ridmg-master came 




L^#^ 



"A bRAVE LEAP INTO THE AIR, AND OVER THEY WENT. CLEAR AND CLEAN." 

the air, and over they went, clear and clean, forward in astonishment to meet the unknown 

landmg lightly on the carpet of tan, amid a per- little horsewoman 

fecM^cXan of applause. But the colonel was there, forcing his wav 

Who IS It? Where did she come from? round in breathless eagerness, to lift his little 

Such a mere chikl-and she is not even wear- heroine from the saddle, to pour out in a tor- 

mg a habit ! What does it all mean ? " rent of eager words his relief and delight, and 

Vol. XX.— 19. ^ 



290 



HOW JANET DID IT. 



[Feb. 



to make whatever explanations might be neces- 
sar}-. 

" J I '(•//.'" he exclaimed, fairly snatching the 
happy child into his arms. "You ar^ all right. 
are n't you? — no bones broken, nothing amiss! 
I tell you, I would n't live through what 
I 've Hved through the last two minutes, not for 
a miUion gold double-eagles ! Here 's yours, 
though, you little trump, and I wish I knew 



your father so I could beg his pardon for dar- 
ing such a risk with his litde daughter!" 

"Oh, he would n't mind, sir!" said Janet, 
laughing. " I wish you would make it right, 
though, with Edith, sir. Here she comes, look- 
ing queer. I 'm half afraid I ought n't to have 
taken her horse without permission, but I can't 
help being glad 1 could do something toward 
the kindergarten I " 




.1). (AhTRK THE PAINTING BV STEFFECK. t\\ PERMISSION OF THE BERLIN rHOTOGRAPHIC CO.) 



HOLLY-BERRY AND MISTLKTOE. 

(./ C/irisOfttis Romame 0/141^2.) 



By Vl. Carrik Hyde. 



\^BfguH ill tht December iiuiiil>er.\ 
V. A PLAN. 

Kack now they go, not slow, I trow. 
The three l)lack crows, and Mistletoe. 

The cave door closed on Ethelred and Chief 
Hardi-Hood ; and Mistletoe turned homeward. 
She had seen much of importance in the last 
few moments, and she must lose no time in 
reaching Charlock-land again. 

So thinking, she straightened her steeple- 
crowned hat, somewhat battered from its con- 
tact with the bushes among which she had 
been stooping, and hurried away in the direc- 
tion the crows had taken. 

Once there was a crackling in the bushes, 
that set her heart to beating for fear it was a 
Hardi-Hood in pursuit of her; but it proved 
a false alarm. Again, a man in leather round- 
about and high top-boots cried, "What do you 
there ? " as he passed through the wood some 
distance from her ; but with her cane she 
stopped to poke the ground, as if in search of 
some rare root, and did not answer. 

" 'T is well to be most cautious on an errand 
like mine," she whispered to herself, and she 
avoided the best-trodden path till the light of 
the full-faced moon showed her that she had 
reached the wood-cutter's cottage. 

"We have had no luck robber-hunting, good 
Dame Mistletoe," said Jeannie, running to meet 
her. " No one can give us a single word of 
them. Canute is foot-sore, tramping over the 
country for them, and we know not what to do 
next." 

" Leave it to me ! Leave it to me ! " re- 
sponded Mistletoe, with a twinkle in her eye. 

"That we will, forsooth," said Jeannie, quite 
satisfied ; " 't will not be the first time you have 
helped us to good luck." 

The next morning, still earlier than before. 
Mistletoe was afoot. The distance no longer 



seemed hard and long nor the path twisting 
and bramble-lined. On the king's highway, 
a carter gave her a ride beside him for several 
miles, so she was safely home and herself and 
her crows well fed before nightfall. 

The days following Holly-berry's visit to 
Mistletoe had been doleful and wearing. 

The last day had been particularly trying to 
the little jester. Three times he had helped 
staghound Thor to evade a hasty kick, and 
three times had he tried to console the fair 
Bertha, when he found her in tears. 

It was therefore a relief to him when even- 
ing settled upon Charlock castle, and Sir 
Charles bade him begone, telling him not to 
darken the door again that night. 

"No, my lord," responded Holly-berry; "I 
come not, unless I bring the moon under my 
arm"; which was then the saying for " I won't 
return till sent for." 

Though a long, lonely way, the little jester 
betook himself to the three oaks — the moon, 
bigger and brighter than on his previous walk, 
lighted so clearly his track that he lost no time, 
even in the dense grove where the shadow- 
etchings crossed and recrossed each other most 
confusingly upon the snow. 

" What news. Dame Mistletoe ? " he asked, 
when he found her standing in her doorway, 
as if awaiting him. " Is all well, and did you 
find the Hardi-Hoods ? " 

" Not so fast, good Holly," rei)lied Mistle- 
toe, conducting him to the bench before her 
fire ; " but, then, 't is unkind to keej) you in 
suspense. The Hardi-Hoods are on the Welsh 
side of England, in a fastness among the rocks. 
And the lad is with them, alive and well, as I 
espied when he followed the chief of the.se out- 
laws, who was about to skewer a crow with his 
arrow-burdened crossbow." 

" How shall one know the place ? " ques- 
tioned Holly-berry. 



292 



HOLLY- BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



(Feb. 



"T is simple enough. Go due west, passing -'rhe next question is, Who is to go there?" 

wood-cutter Canute's cottage, till one comes to said Holly-berry, crossing his finger-tips like a 

three diverging paths; follow the mid one, judge. "Sir Charles has so weakened that — " 

though it is as rocky and seemingly untraveled "Did you not once gossip to me of some love 







/ 



y 





n 




ri-f "^ j^ -^' 



"WITH IIKK CANK SHE STOPPED TO POKE THE GKOIND, AS IK IN SEARCH OF SOME KAKE ROOT, AND DID NOT ANSWER. 

as the others. After many twists and turns, it 'twixt Bertha and Count Egbert?" asked Mis- 
brings one out upon the edge of a ravine. In tletoc, interrupting Holly-berry, 
this tree-bound hollow live the Hardi-Hoods." "Truly," nodded the little jester. 



« 893-1 



noil v-i:kkrv and MihTi.i; iok 



'■93 



''And did you not further gossip that a feud, 
long-rii)i'ncd 'twixt their familjjs, caused Sir 
C'hailes to vow mightily that none of his should 
marry a Traymore of Twin Towers?" 

"Truly," saitl Holly-berry, again. 

"Then," said Mistletoe, "as it grieves me sore 
to have an aflair of true love go so awry, how 
woulil it do, think you, to lay the matter before 
Count Egbert? He de- 
serveth not his name 
of ' sworil-brightness,' 1 
ween, if he cannot so 
try its sharp point upon 
these robbers that he 
shall win your Ethelred 
from them and restore 
him to his parents." 

"And wed the fair 
Bertha," added Holly- 
berry, his bright eyes 
dancing; and this time 
he allowed himself a 
somersault. 

" Go to, Holly-berry ! 
That is far-fetched to 
the plan, and no answer," 
remonstrated Mistletoe. 
" What think you of it ? " 

"Think of it?" re- 
peated Holly-berry, '• 'tis 
the very best that was 
e'er devised ! Who shall 
be messenger to tell the 
count of this ? " 

" Who but fair Bertha, 
herself? — that is, I will 
send a request that shall 
bring him here to the 
three oaks, while you 
send maid Bertha on 
some pretext unexpect- 
edly to meet him. It 

will be a pretty sight, the meeting of the two." 
And Mistletoe pictured to herself the scene. 

" But he dares not set a foot in Charlock- 
land," demurred Holly-berry. 

"Forsooth, Holly, what manner of Egbert 
carry you in mind? — a nilly-nad who dares 
not risk a little danger for his lady-love? Not 
so ^/tis Egbert. Persuade, then, the lady fair 



to come here by eleven of the clock to-morrow 
morning, and Egbert will be awaiting. So hie 
you hence, without somersaults or other loss 
of time, to do your i)art." 

Not at all affronted, the little jester made a 
deep bow, and was off like the wind — Thor, 
who had slyly followed him, capering and frisk- 
ing at his heels. 




I WILL BE WITH HIM ERE FIVE MINUTES LEAVE I'S. 



"Now, Straight to fair Bertha," said Holly- 
berry to himself, as he reached Charlock cas- 
tle; and, entering the broad hall by a side door, 
he tried to escape notice. 

"By my halidom! you are tardy," said a 
retainer stationed in the hall. " Sir Charles 
has been calling for you high and low, vow- 
ing you shall be dismissed his service if you 



294 



HOLLV-BEKRV AND MISTLETOE. 



[Feb. 



cannot be at your post to make light his heavy 
spirits." 

"Post, indeed!" said Holly-berry. "Make 
light his heavy spirits!" he repeated. "As if 
one were, in truth, to carry a moon under his 
arm ! Post you to him," and here he shook 
his head at the retainer like a i)layful goat, 
thus setting his cap-bells into their merriest 
jingle — "post you to him post-haste, and tell 
him that though fair Luna could not come with 
me to-night, being much needed at home, I 
shall be with him ere five minutes leave us, and 
vnW so light his heavy spirits with a jolly tale 
that he shall shout with laughter ! " 

Skipping past the retainer, he scampered up 
the stairs and knocked daintily on the door of 
the apartments occupied by Bertha. 

"Surely," she said to herself, "that dainty 
knocklet and bell-jingle belong to none other 
than Holly-berry. What wants the litde rogue ? 
He must have news to bring him where he has 
ne'er come before." Upon her calling, " Enter," 
the jester came in, made a fantastic bow, and 
seated himself upon a stool at her feet. 

" Fair Bertha," he began at once, " I know 
more of your affairs for the next four minutes 
than it behooves me to e'er know again. At 
eleven of the clock to-morrow morning, wrap 
yourself warmly and hie you to the three oaks 
in the old grove. Ethelred is with the Hardi- 
Hoods, and can be rescued and brought away in 
safety if you will but meet the brave knight 
you will see under the three oaks, and tell 
him where to find the little lad." 

Bertha raised her slim hands in astonish- 
ment, dropped the illuminated missal out of 
which she had been trying to spell some Latin 
comfort, and stared at Holly-berry. 

"'T is a secret?" she at length questioned. 

" The same," said Holly-berry, si)ringing to 
his feet, and bowing so low that his pointed 
cap touched the floor. 

" No one must know that I go, nor why I 
go ? " she questioned. 

" The same," he repeated, gallantly bowing. 

" How can I direct this valiant knight to a 
place I know not of? "she next asked. 

" The recipe is easily given. He must go 
west, by the highway, till he comes to a stile 
and mile-stone, in mid England ; thence, still 



keei)ing to the westward, upon a narrow path 
till he has passed wood-cutter Canute's cottage, 
and come to where his path divides in three. 
Of these the midmost one, after many rough 
crooks and turns, brings him upon the edge of 
the ravine in which dwell these Hardi-Hoods. 
What then to do he will see for himself once 
he is there." 

Bertha shivered, but she said, " Thank you, 
kind Holly-berry, I will go." 

" And I will go," said the jester, hurrying 
from the room, and entering Sir Charles's pres- 
ence with a bit of tumbling just as the last of 
the five minutes he had allowed himself was 
expiring. 

Soon, by some chicanery known to the jes- 
ter's art, Sir Charles was set to laughing louder 
and louder, as he caught Holly-berry's merry 
spirit, and listened to his clever jokes. 

" By my faith," said he, " I know not why 
I am so merry, my jolly jester-berry, but there 
is a feeling upon me that the little lad will yet 
be found, alive and well. What think you ? " 

" The same," said Holly-berry. 

VI. UNDER THE MISTLETOE. 

Through valor two are oft made one; 
Through valor too, is oft maid won. 

No sooner had Holly-berry disappeared than 
Bertha found her heart fluttering with more 
hope and expectation than she could account 
for. It gave to her cheeks a dash of color 
that had not been there since the day Egbert 
was driven from Charlock castle, and threat- 
ened with quick death or the dungeon for life 
if he but set foot within the premises again. 

That was three months agone, and Bertha 
had not seen Egbert since, nor heard from him. 

Impatiently she awaited the next morning. 
At the time set, she put a long cloak over her 
trailing gown, a hood over her fair hair, and 
going down a back stair, was through the door 
and on her way to the three oaks without hav- 
ing attracted notice. 

As she entered the grove, she followed the 
snow i)ath Holly-l)erry had worn, and coming 
at last to a little opening in the tangled growth 
of the trees' low, wide branches, she saw Count 
Egbert pacing back and forth near the three 



.893) 



HOLLY- BERRY AND MISTLKIOE 



295 



oaks, a look of impatient expectation upon his years ago!" he crieil. "What have they to 

face. do with you and me, liertha ? 1 disdain such 

He was a goodly knight ami well-looking, silliness I " 

He wore a suit of fine-linked armor, over which "Your sword shall yet be a peacemaker, Eg- 

was a scarlet tabard embroidered in (juerls of bert," saixl Bertha, brightening. " Listen that 

gold. The Traymore arms, a jessant lion, were 1 may tell you how.'' 

worked skilfully upon his breast, while a hand- In a few words she told him of Ethelred's 

some mantle of silver-fo.\ swung from his .shoul- loss, of how to find him in the Hardi-Hoods' 

ders, partly making up for the lack of warmth stronghold, and even discu.ssed how he might 

in the low-throated, short-sleeved tabard. His then be rescued. 

head-piece was an open helmet, over which a " Truly, Bertha, the task, as you call it, is 

scarlet feather nodded or tossed to and fro in but pleasure; I will oft" at once, that no more 

the playful breeze. time be lost. Say naught to your father of this, 

" Bertha ! " he exclaimed, looking up sud- and worry not, but by Christmas Day, only two 
denly. " By my troth, this is wondrous kind ! days away, have all in reailiness for the usual 
I was expecting something, but not this."' and merry-making. I shall surely come, and with 
going toward her, he greeted her as reverently me the little lad, both safe and sound." Pull- 
as if she had dropped from the sky. " You ing from the oak-branch above him a sprig of 
show trouble, — nor is it to be wondered at. mistletoe, he gave it to her as a parting keep- 
Time goes hard with you and me; yet pa- sake. 

tience ! and it shall all come right at last, if Egbert escorted her to the edge of the grove, 

my sword is long and strong enough." and, wishing him God-speed, she watched him 

" What mean you, Egbert ? " she asked spring upon his horse, that was neighing in 

quickly. '■ Surely you would not war upon impatience to be off. Soon he was out of 

my father? " sight, — at a speed equal to that of the robber 

" No; if you wish it not ; but my sword can Hardi-Hood with Ethelred, and, like him, over 

scarce stay within its sheath, so anxious is it to stones, sticks, hedges, bushes, — whatever lay in 

use its steel tongue in our cause"; and as he his way, till safe beyond Sir Charles's land. 

spoke, forgetful of his first advice to patience, " Caw, caw, caw ! " cried three black crows, 

he half drew the blade from its scabbard. as they caught from far above the tops of the 

" A truce to family feuds three hundred trees a bird's-eye view of the knight. 

( To be continued.) 



THE LITTLE GIRL THAT CRIED. 



By Edith M. Thomas. 



Once the Little Girl that Cried, 
Looking through her tears, espied 
Lovely motes of colored light 
In the fringes of her eye — 
Just as when the weather clears, 
And the clouds are put to flight, 



There 's a rainbow in the sky. 
And the Little Giri that Cried, 
When she saw this lovely sight,— 
This fine rainbow in her tears, — 
Would forget the reason why 
She had thought it best to cr)-. 













SNAKK-flHAKMKRS OF CKYLON. WITH COBRAS. 

ENGRAVED POH ST. N.C.OLAS, PKOM A PHOTOORA.-H. (nV rKRM.SS.ON O,- MK. S. H.XWOOn MAV.) 

(SEE PAGE 316.) 



S96 



roiJ.V OIJVKR'S PROBLEM. 



Hv Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

Author of " T/u- BirJs' C/iristnias Cd/v/," ".7 Summer in a Cnt'ton,'" etc. 



\BcguH in the Xo-^'cinber Huinbtr.\ 

Chapter IX. 

HARD TIMES. 

The new arrangement worked exceedingly 
well. 

As to Edgar's innermost personal feelings 
no one is qualified to speak with any author- 
ity. Whether he experienced a change of 
heart, vowed better things, prayed to be de- 
livered from temptation, or simply decided to 
turn over a new leaf, no one knows; the prin- 
cipal fact in his life at this period seems to 
have been an unprecedented lack of time for 
any great foolishness. 

Certain unpleasant things had transpired on 
that eventful Friday night when he had missed 
his appointment with his fellow-students, which 
had resulted in an open scandal too disagree- 
able to be passed over by the college author- 
ities; and the redoubtable Tony had been 
returned with thanks to his fond parents in 
Mendocino County. 

Edgar Noble was not too blind to see the 
happy chance that interfered with his presence 
on that occasion, and was sensible enough to 
realize that, had he been implicated in the 
least degree (he scorned the possibility of his 
taking any active part in such proceedings), he 
would probably have shared Tony's fate. 

Existence was wearing a particularly dismal 
aspect on that afternoon when Edgar had met 
Polly Oliver in the Berkeley woods. He felt 
" nagged," injured, blue, out of sorts with fate. 
He had not done anything very bad, he said to 
himself, — at least, nothing half as bad as lots 
of other fellows, — and yet everybody frowned 
on him. His father had, in his opinion, been 
unnecessarily severe ; while his mother and sis- 
ter had wept over him (by letter) as if he were 
a thief and a forger, instead of a fellow who was 



simply having a " little tling." He was an- 
noyed at the conduct of Scott Burton, "king 
of snobs and prigs," he named him, who had 
taken it upon himself to inform Philip Noble 
of his (Edgar's) own personal affairs; and he 
was enraged at being preached at by that said 
younger brother. 

But of late everything had taken an upward 
turn, and existence turned a smiling face to- 
ward him by way of variety. He had passed 
his examinations (most unexpectedly to him- 
self) with a respectable percentage to spare. 
There was a time when he would have been 
ashamed of this meager result. He was now, 
just a little, but the feeling was somewhat sub- 
merged in his gratitude at having " squeaked 
through " at all. 

A certain inspired Professor Hope, who won- 
dered what effect encouragement would have 
on a fellow who did n't deserve any, but might 
possibly need it, came up to him after recita- 
tions one day, and said : 

" Noble, I want to congratulate you on your 
papers in history and physics. They show sig- 
nal ability. There is a plentiful lack of study 
evinced, but no want of grasp or power. You 
have talents that ought to put you among the 
first three men in the University, sir. I do not 
know whether you care to take the trouble to 
win such a place (it is a good deal of trouble), 
but you can win it if you want it. That 's all I 
have to say, Noble. Good morning ! " 

This unlooked-for speech fell like balm on 
Edgar's wounded self-respect, and made him 
hold his head higher for a week; and, natu- 
rally, while his head occupied this elevated 
position, he was obliged to live up to it. He 
also felt obliged to make an effort, rather re- 
luctantly, to maintain some decent standing 
in the classes of Professor Hope, even if he 
shirked in all the rest. 



298 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Feb. 



And now life, on the whole, was very pleas- 
ant save for one carking care that perched on 
his shoulder by day and sat on his eyelids at 
night ; though he could not flatter himself that 
he was absolutely a free agent. 

After all ordinary engagements of concerts, 
theaters, lectures, or what not, he entered the 
house undisturbed, and noiselessly sought his 
couch. But one night, when he ventured to 
stay out till after midnight, just as he was stealing 
in softly, Mrs. Oliver's gentle voice came from 
the head of the stairs, saying " Good night, 
Edgar; the lamp is lighted in your room!" 

Edgar closed his door and sat down discon- 
solately on the bed, cane in hand, hat on the 
back of his head. The fire had burned to a 
few glowing coals; his slippers lay on the 
hearth, and his Christmas "easy jacket" hung 
over the back of his great arm-chair ; his books 
lay open under the student-lamp, and there 
were two vases of fresh flowers in the room : 
that was Polly's doing. 

" Mrs. Oliver was awake and listening for 
me ; worrying about me, probably ; I dare say 
she thought I 'd been waylaid by bandits," he 
muttered discontentedly. " I might as well live 
in the Young Women's Christian Association ! 
I can't get mad with an angel, but I did n't in- 
tend being one myself!" 

But all the rest was perfect ; and his chief 
chums envied him after they had spent an 
evening with the Olivers. Polly and he had 
ceased to quarrel, and were on good, frank, 
friendly terms. " She is no end of fun," he 
would have told you ; " has no nonsensical 
young-lady airs about her, is always ready 
for sj)ort, sings all kinds of songs from grave to 
gay, knows a good joke when you tell one, and 
keeps a fellow up to the mark as well as a 
maiden aunt." 

All this was delightful to everybody con- 
cerned. Meanwhile the household affairs were 
as troublesome as they could well be. Mrs. 
Oliver developed more serious symptoms, and 
Dr. Oeorge asked the San Francisco physician 
to call to see her twice a week at least. The 
San Francisco physician thought " a year at 
Carlsbad, and a year in Nice, would be a 
good thing", but, failing these, he ordered co- 
pious quantities of expensive drugs, and the 



reserve fund shrank, though the precious 
three hundred and twelve dollars was almost 
intact. 

Poor Mrs. Chadwick sent tearful monthly 
letters, accomj)anied by checks of fifty to sixty- 
five dollars. One of the boarders had died; 
two had gone away; the season was poor; Ah 
Foy had returned to China ; Mr. Greenwood 
was difficult about his meals : the roof leaked ; 
provisions were dear; Mrs. Holmes in the next 
block had decided to take boarders; Eastern 
])eople were grumbling at the weather, saying 
it was not at all as reported in the guide-books ; 
real-estate and rents were very low ; she hoped 
to be able to do better next month ; and she 
was Mrs. Oliver's " affectionate Clementine 
Churchill Chadwick." 

Polly had held a consultation with the princi- 
pal of her school, who had assured her that 
as she was so well in advance of her class, she 
could be promoted with them the next term, if 
she desired. Accordingly, she left school in 
order to be more with her mother, and as she 
studied with Edgar in the evening, she really 
lost nothing. 

Mrs. Howe remitted four dollars from the 
monthly rent, in consideration of Sj)anish les- 
sons given to her eldest daughter, who was 
studying for a certificate to teach in the Cos- 
moj)olitan Schcfol. This experiment proved a 
success, and Polly next accepted an offer to 
come three times a week to the house of a 
certain Mrs. Baer at North Beach, to amuse 
(instructively) the four little Baer cubs, while 
the mother Baer wrote a " History of the 
Dress-reform Movement in Enghsh-speaking 
Nations." 

For this service Polly was paid ten dollars a 
month in gold coin, while the amount of spirit- 
ual wealth which she amassed could not pos- 
sibly be estimated in dollars and cents. The 
ten dollars was very useful, for it procured the 
services of a kind, strong woman, who came on 
these three afternoons of Polly's absence, put 
the entire house in order, did the mending, 
rubbed Mrs. Oliver's tired back, and brushed 
her hair until she fell asleep. 

So Polly assisted in keeping the wolf from 
the door, and her sacrifices watered her young 
heart and kept it tender. " Money may always 



1893] 



POLLY OLIVIKS I'ROIU.KM. 



299 



be a beautiful thing. It is wc who make it 
grimy." 

Edgar shared in the business conferences 
now. He had gone into convulsions of mirth 
over Polly's system of accounts, and insisted, 
much against her will, in teacliing her book- 
keeping, striving to con\ ince her that the cash 
could be kept in a single box, and the accounts 
separated in a book. 

These lessons were merry occasions, for 
there was a conspicuous cavity in Polly's 
brain where the faculty for mathematics should 
have been. 

"Your imbecility is so unusual that it 's a 
positive inspiration," Edgar would say. " It 
is n't like any ordinary stupidity ; there does n't 
seem to be any bottom to it, you know ; it 's 
abnormal, it 's fascinating, Polly ! " 

Polly glowed under this unstinted praise. " I 
am glad you like it," she said. " I always like 
to have a thing first-class of its kind, though I 
can't pride myself that it compares with your 
Spanish accent, Edgar — that stands absolutely 
alone and unapproachable for badness. I don't 
worry about my mathematical stupidity a bit 
since I read Dr. Holmes, who says that ' every- 
body has an idiotic area in his mind.' " 

There had been very little bookkeeping to- 
night. It was raining in torrents. Mrs. Oliver 

was talking with General M in the parlor, 

while Edgar and Polly were studying in the 
dining-room. 

Polly put down her book and leaned back in 
her chair. It had been a hard day, and it was 
very discouraging that a New Year should 
come to one's door laden with vexations and 
anxieties, when everybody naturally expected 
New Years to be happy, through January and 
February at least. 

" Edgar," she sighed plaintively, " I find 
that this is a very difficult world to live in, 
sometimes." 

Edgar looked up from his book, and glanced 
at her as she lay back with closed eyes in the 
Chinese lounging-chair. She was so pale, so 
tired, and so very, very pretty just then, her 
hair falling in bright confusion round her face, 
her whole figure relaxed with weariness, and 
her lips trembling a httle, as if she would like 
to cry if she dared. 



'• What 's the matter, pretty Poll ? " 

'* Nothing specially new. The Haer cubs 
were naughty as little demons to-day. One of 
them hatl a birthday-party yesterday, with finir 
kinds of frosted cake. .Mrs. Baer's system of 
management is n't like mine, and until 1 con- 
vince the children I mean what I say, they give 
me the benefit of the doubt. 'I'he Baer place is 
so large that Mrs. Baer never knows where dis- 
obedience may occur, and that she may be 
saved steps she keeps one of Mr, Baer's old 
slippers on the front porch, one in the carriage- 
hou.se, one in the arbor, one in the nursery, and 
one under the rose hedge at the front gate. 
She showed me all these haunts, and told me 
to make myself thoroughly at home. I felt 
tempted to-day, but I resisted." 

" You are working too hard, Polly. I pro- 
pose we do something about Mrs. Chadwick. 
You are bearing all the brunt of other people's 
faults and blunders." 

'' But, Edgar, everything is so mixed : Mrs. 
Chadwick's year of lease is n't over; I suppose 
she cannot be turned out by main force, and if 
we should ask her to leave the house it might 
go unrented for a month or two, and the loss 
of that money might l)e as much as the loss of 
ten or fifteen dollars a month for the rest of the 
year. I could complain of her to Dr. George, 
but there again I am in trouble. If he knew 
that we are in difficulties, he would ofter to lend 
us money in an instant, and that would make 
mama ill, I am sure; for we are under all sorts 
of obligations to him now, for kindnesses that 
can never be repaid. Then, too, he advised us 
not to let Mrs. Chadwick have the house. He 
said that she had n't energy enough to succeed ; 
but mama was so sorry for her, and so deter- 
mined to give her a chance, that she persisted 
in letting her have it. We shall have to move 
into a cheaper flat, by and by, for I 've tried 
every other method of economizing for fear of 
making mama worse with the commotion of 
moving." 

Chapter X. 

EDGAR GOES TO CONFESSION. 

" I 'm afraid I make it harder, Polly, and 
you and your mother must be frank with me. 



;oo 



POLI.V OLIVKR S PROBLEM. 



[Feb. 



and turn me out of the Garden of Eden the what the Nobles had told them, that he was in 

first moment I become a nuisance. Will you danger of falling behind his class. This, they 

promise?" judged, was a contingency no longer to be 

*" Vou are a help to us, Edgar : we told you feared ; as various remarks dropped by the stu- 

so the other night. We could n't have Yung dents who visited the house, and sundry bits of 

Lee unless you lived with us, and I could n't information contributed by Edgar himself, in 

earn any money if I had to do all the house- sudden bursts of high spirits, convinced them 

work." that he was regaining his old rank, and cer- 

" I 'd like to be a help, but I 'm so helpless ! " tainly his old ambition. 




"EDGAR LOOKED If FROM HIS BOOK, ANU GLANCED AT HEK AS SHt LAV JJA>_K UllH CLOSED EYES IN THE LOfNGlNG-CHAlR " 



" We are all poor together just now, and that 
makes it easier." 

" I am worse than poor ! " Edgar declared. 

" What can be worse than being poor ? " 
asked Polly, with a sigh drawn from the depths 
of her boots. 

"To be in debt," said l-'.dgar, who had iiui 
the .slightest intention of making this remark 
when he opened his lips. 

Now the Olivers had only the merest notion 
of Edgar's college troubles ; they knew simply 



" To be in debt," repeated Edgar, doggedly, 
" and to see no possible way out of it. Polly, 
I 'm in a peck of trouble ! I 've lost money, 
and I 'm at my wit's end to get straight again ! " 

"Lost money ? How much ? Do you mean 
that you lost your pocket-book ? " 

"No, no; not in that way." 

" You mean that you spent it," said Polly. 
" You mean you overdrew your allowance." 

" Of course I did. Good gracious ! Polly, 
there are other ways of losing money than by 



"893 



POLI.V OLIVKRS PKOIU.EM. 



dropping it in the road. I believe girls don't 
know anything more about the world than what 
the geography tells them — that it 's a roimd 
globe like a ball or an orange I " 

" Don't be imi)olite. The less they know 
about the old world tlie better the) get on, 1 
dare say. Vour colossal tund of worldly know- 
ledge does n't seem to make you very hai)}j\ , 
just now. How could you lose money, I ask ? 
You 're nothing but a student, and you are not 
in any business, are you ? " 

" Yes, I am in business, ami pretty bad busi- 
ness it is, too." 

" What do you mean ? " 

" I mean that I 've been winding myself up 
into a hard knot, the last six months, and the 
more I try to disentangle myself, the worse the 
thing gets. My allowance is n't half enough ; 
nobody but a miser could live on it. I 've been 
unlucky, too. I bought a dog, and some one 
poisoned him before I could sell him ; then I 
lamed a horse from the livery-stable, and had 
to pay damages ; and so it went. The fellows 
all kept lending me money, rather than let me 
stay out of the little club suppers, and since 
I 've shut down on expensive gaieties they 've 
gone back on me, and all want their money at 
once ; so does the livery-stable keeper, and the 
owner of the dog, and a dozen other indi- 
viduals : in fact, the debtors' prison yawns 
before me." 

" Upon my word, I 'm ashamed of you ! " 
said Polly, with considerable heat. " To waste 
money in that way, when you knew perfectly 
well you could n't afford it, was — well, it was 
downright dishonest, that 's what it was ! To 
hear you talk about dogs, and lame horses, and 
club suppers, anybody would suppose you were 
a sporting man ! Pray, what else do they do in 
that charming college set of yours ? " 

" I might have known you would take that 
tone, but I did n't, somehow. I told you just 
because I thought you were the one girl in a 
thousand who would understand and advise a 
fellow when he knows he 's made a fool of him- 
self and acted like a cur ! I did n't suppose 
you would call hard names, and be so un- 
sympathizing, after all we have gone through 
together I " 

" I 'm not ! — I did n't ! — I won't do it 



301 

again ! " said Polly, incoherently, as she took 
a straight chair, planted her elbows on the 
table, and leaned her chin in her two palms. 
" Now, let 's talk al)out it. How much is it ? " 

"Over a hundred and fifty dollars! Don't 
shudder so provokingly, l^)lly ; that 's a mere 
bagatelle for a college man, but I know it 's a 
good deal for me — a good deal more than 1 
know how to get, at all events." 

" Where is the debtors' ])rison ? " asked Polly 
in an awe-struck whisper. 

'* Oh, there is n't any such thing ! I was 
only chaffing; but, of course, the men to whom 
I am in debt can apply to father, and get me 
in a regular mess. I 've pawned my watch to 
stave one of them off. You see, Polly, I would 
write and tell fother everything, and ask him 
for the money, but circumstances conspire just 
at this time to make it impossible. You know 
father bought that great ranch in Ventura 
County with Albert Harding of New York. 
Harding has died insolvent, and father has to 
make certain payments or lose control of a 
valuable property. It 's going to make him a 
rich man some time, but for a year or two we 
shall have to count every penny. Of course 
the fruit crop this season was the worst in ten 
years, and of course there has been a frost this 
winter, the only severe one within the memory 
of the oldest inhabitant, — that 's the way it 
always is, — and there I am! I suppose you 
despise me, Polly ? " 

" Yes, I do ! " (hotly) — " no, I don't altogether, 
and I 'm not good enough myself to be able to 
despise people. Besides, you are not a despis- 
able boy. You w^ere born manly and generous 
and true-hearted, and these hateful things that 
you have been doing are not a part of your 
nature a bit ; but I 'm ashamed of you for 
yielding to bad impulses when you have so 
many good ones, and — oh dear! — I do that 
very same thing myself. But how could you, 
yoii, Edgar Noble, take that evil-eyed, fat- 
nosed, common Tony Selling for a friend ? I 
wonder at you ! " 

" He is n't so bad in some ways. I owe 
him eighty dollars of that money, and he says 
he '11 give me six months to pay it." 

" I 'm glad he has some small virtues," Polly 
replied witheringly. " Now, what can we do. 



;o2 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



Edgar? Let us think. What can, what can 
we do ? " and she leaned forward reflectively, 
clasping her knee with her hands and wrinkling 
her brow with intense thought. 

That little " we " fell on Edgar's loneline.ss 
of spirit consoHngly ; for it adds a new pang 
to self-distrust when righteous people withdraw 
from one in utter disdain, even if they are '"only 
girls" who know little of a boy's temptations. 

" If you can save a little each month out of 
your allowance, Edgar," said Polly, finally, with 
a brighter look, " I can spare fifty dollars of our 
money, and you may pay it back as you can. 
We are not likely to need it for several months, 
and your father and mother will not care to 
be troubled with this matter, now that it 's over 
and done with." 

The blood rushed to Edgar's face as he 
replied stiffly : '• I may be selfish and recklessly 
extravagant, but I don't borrow money from 
girls. If you wanted to add tlie last touch to my 
shame, you 've done it. Don't you suppose I 
have eyes, Polly Oliver? Don't you suppose 
I 've hated myself ever since I came under this 
roof, when I have seen the way you worked 
and planned and plotted and saved and de- 
nied yourself? Don't you suppose I 've looked 
at you twenty times a day, and said to myself, 
' You miserable, selfish ])uppy, getting yourself 
and everybody who cares for you into trouble, 
just look at that girl and be ashamed of your- 
self down to the ground ! ' And now you offer 
to lend me money I Oh, Polly, I would n't have 
believed it of you ! " 

Polly felt convicted of sin, although she was 
not very clear as to the reason. " Your mother 
has been a very good friend to us, Edgar ; why 
should n't we help you a little, just for once? 
Now let us go in to see mama, and we can talk 
it over." 

"If you jjity me, Polly, don't tell her; 1 
could not bear to have that saint upon earth 
worried over my troubles ; it was mean enough 
to add a feather's weight to yours." 

" Well, we won't do it, then," said Polly, with 
maternal kindness in her tone. " We '11 find 
some other way out of the trouble ; but boys 
are such an anxiety I Do you think, Edgar, 
that you have reformed ? " 

" Bless your soul ! I 've kept within my allow- 



ance for two or three months. As Susan Nip- 
per says, ' I may be a camel, but I 'm not a 
dromedary !' When I found out where I was, I 
stopped ; I had to stop and I knew it. I 'm all 
right now, thanks to — several things. In fact, 
I 've acquired a kind of appetite for behaving 
myself now, and if the rascally debts were only 
out of the way, I should be the happiest fellow 
in the universe." 

" You cannot apply to your father, so there 
is only one thing to do — that is, to earn the 
money." 

" But how, when I 'm in college three fourths 
of the day ? " 

" I don't know," said Polly, hopelessly. " I 
can tell you what to do, but not how to do it : 
I 'm nothing but a miserable girl." 

" I must stay in college, and I must dig and 
make up for lost time ; so most of my evenings 
will be occupied." 

"You must put all your 'musts' together," 
said Polly, decisively, " and then build a bridge 
over them, or tunnel through them, or span them 
with an arch. We '11 keep thinking about it, and 
I 'm sure something will turn up ; I 'm not discour- 
aged a bit, you see, Edgar " ; and Polly's face 
flushed with feeling as she drew patterns on the 
table-cloth with her tortoise-shell hair-pin. " You 
see, of course, the good fairies are not going to 
leave you in the lurch when you 've turned 
your back on the ugly temptations, and are 
doing your very best. And now that we 've 
talked it all over, Edgar, I 'm not ashamed of 
you ! Mama and I have been so proud of 
your successes the last month. She believes in 
you ! " 

" Of course," said Edgar, dolefully ; '' because 
she knows only the best." 

" But I know the best and the worst too, and 
I believe in you! It seems to me the best is 
always the truest part of one, after all. No — 
we are not going to be naughty any more; we 
are going to earn that hateful Tony's money; 
wc are going to take all the class honors, — just 
for fun, not because we care for such trifles, — 
and we are going home for the summer holi- 
days in a l)laze of glory I " 

Edgar rose with a lighter heart in his breast 
than he had felt there for many a week. " Good 
night, Parson Polly," he said, rather formally. 



i8q3 1 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



303 



for he was too greatly toiu hed to be able to 
commaml his tones; "ailci your prayers to your 
sermons, and perhaps you Ml bring the black 
sheep safely into the fold." 

The (juick tears rushed to I'olly's eyes. She 
feared she had annoyetl him by too much ad- 
vice. " Oh, Edgar," she said, with a quivering 
lip, " 1 did n't mean to pose or to preach ! You 
know how full of laults I am, and if I were a 
boy I should be worse ! I was only trying to 
help a little, even if I am younger, and a girl ! 
Don't — don't think I was setting myself up as 
better than you ; that 's so mean and conceited 
and small ! " 

Suddenly Edgar's heart throbbed with a new 
feeling. He saw as in a vision the purity, fidel- 
ity, and tender yearning of a true woman's 
nature shining through a girl's eyes. In that 
moment he wished as never before to be manly 
and worthy. He seemed all at once to under- 
stand his mother, his sister, all women better, 
and with a quick impulsive gesture which he 
would not have understood a month before, he 
stooped over astonished Polly's hand, kissed it 
reverently without a word, then closed the door, 
and went to his room. 

Chapter XI. 

THE LADY IN BLACK. 

" I 'vE had a little adventure," said Polly to 
her mother one afternoon. " I went out, for 
the sake of the ride, on the Sutter street cable- 
cars with Milly Foster. When we came to the 
end of the line, Milly walked down to Geary street 
to take her car home. I went with her to the 
comer, and as I w-as coming back I saw a lady 
in black alighting from an elegant carriage. 
She had a coachman and footman, both with 
weeds on their hats, and she seemed very sad 
and grave ; but she had such a sweet, beautiful 
face that I was sorry for her the first moment I 
looked at her. She walked along in front of 
me toward the cemetery, and there w-e met 
those little boys that stand about the gate with 
bouquets. She glanced at the flowers as if .she 
would like to buy some, but you know how 
hideous they always are, — every color of the 
rainbow crowded in tightly together, — and she 
looked away, dissatisfied. I don't know why 



she hadn't brought scjme with her — she looketl 
rich enough to buy a whole conservatory ; 
perhaps she had n't expected to drive there. 
However, Milly Foster had given me a whole 
armful of beautiful flowers (you know she has 
a 'white garden'): there were white sweet peas, 
Lamanjue roses, and three stalks of snowy 
Eucharist lilies. I need n't tell my own mother 
that I did n't stop to think twice; I just stepped 
up to her and said, ' 1 should like to give you 
my flowers, please. I don't need them, and I 
am sure they are just sweet and lovely enough 
for the place you want to lay them.' 

" The tears came into her eyes, — .she was just 
ready to cry at anything, you know, — and she 
took them at once, and said, squeezing my 
hand very tightly, ' I will take them, dear. 
The grave of my own (and my only) little girl 
hes far away from this, — the snow is falling 
on it to-day, — but whenever I cannot give 
the flowers to her, I always find the resting- 
places of other children, and lay them there. I 
know it makes her happy, for she was bom on 
Christmas Day, and she was full of the Christ- 
mas spirit, always thinking of other people, 
never of herself.' 

" She did look so pale, and sad, and sweet, 
that I began to think of you without your 
troublesome Polly, or your troublesome Polly 
without you ; and she was pleased with the 
flowers, and glad that I understood, and willing 
to love anything that was a girl or that was 
young — oh ! you know, Mamacita, and so I 
began to cry a little, too; and the first thing 
I knew I kissed her, which was most informal, 
if not positively impertinent. But she seemed 
to like it, for she kissed me back again, and I 
ran and jumped on the car, and here I am! 
You will have to eat your dinner without any 
flowers, madam, for you have a vulgarly strong, 
healthy daughter, and the poor lady in black 
has n't." 

This was Polly's first impression of " the 
lady in black," and thus began an acquain- 
tance which was destined before many months 
to play a very important part in Polly's fortunes 
and misfortunes. 

What " the lady in black" thought of Polly, 
then and subsecjuently, was told at her own 
fireside, where she sat, some six weeks later. 



304 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Feb. 



chatting over an after-dinner cup of coftee 
with her brother-in-law. 

'•Take the arm-chair, John," said Mrs. Bird; 
" for I have ' lots to tell you,' as the little folks 
say. I was in the Children's Hospital about 
five o'clock to-day. I have n't been there for 
three months, and I felt guilty about it. The 
matron asked me to go up-stairs into the chil- 
dren's sitting-room — the one Donald and I fitted 
up in memory of Carol. She said that a young 
lady was telling stories to the children, but that 
I might go right up and walk in. I opened the 
door softly, — though I don't think the children 
would have noticed if I had fired a cannon in 
their midst, — and stood there, spellbound by the 
loveliest, most touching scene I ever witnessed. 
The room has an open fire, and in a low chair, 
with the firelight shining on her face, sat that 
charming, impulsive girl who gave me the flow- 
ers at the cemetery — I told you about her. 
She was telling stories to the children. There 
were fifteen or twenty of them in the room, — all 
the semi-invalids and convalescents, I should 
think. — and they were gathered about her like 
flies round a saucer of honey. Every child that 
could was doing its best to get a bit of her dress 
to touch, or a finger of her hand to hold, or an 
inch of her chair to lean upon. They were the 
usual pale, weary-looking children, most of 
them with splints and weights and crutches, 
and through the folding-doors that opened into 
the next room I could see three more little 
things sitting up in their cots and drinking in 
every word with eagerness and transport. 

" And I don't wonder. There is magic in 
that girl for sick or sorrowing people. I wish 
you could have seen and heard her. Her hair 
is full of warmth and color ; her lips and cheeks 
are pink ; her eyes are bright with health and 
mischief, and beaming with love, too ; her smile 
is like sunshine, and her voice as glad as a wild 
bird's. I never saw a creature so alive and 
radiant, and I could feel that the weak little 
creatures drank in her strength and vigor, with- 
out depleting her, as flowers drink in the sun- 
light. 

" As she stood up and made ready to go, she 
caught sight of me, and ejaculated, with the 
most astonished face : ' Why, it is my lady in 
black ! ' Then, with a blush, she added, ' Ex- 



cuse me I I spoke without thinking — I always 
do. I have thought of you very often since I 
gave you the flowers; and as I did n't know 
your name, I have always called you my lady 
in black.' 

'" I should be very glad to be your "lady" in 
any color,' I answered, * and my other name is 
Mrs. Bird.' Then I asked her if she would not 
come and see me. She said, ' Yes, with plea- 
sure,' and told me also that her mother was 
ill, and that she left her as little as possible ; 
whereupon I offered to go and see her instead. 

" Now, here endeth the first lesson, and here 
beginneth the second, viz., my new plan, on 
which I wish to ask your advice. You know 
that all the money Donald and I used to spend 
on Carol's nurses, physicians, and what not, we 
give away each Christmas Day in memory of 
her. It may be that we give it in monthly in- 
stalments, but we try to plan it and let people 
know about it on that day. I propose to create 
a new profession for talented young women 
who like to be helpful to others as well as 
to themselves. I propose to offer this little 
Miss Oliver, say, twenty-five dollars a month, 
if she will go regularly to the Children's Hos- 
pital and to the various orphan-asylums just 
before supper and just before bedtime, and sing 
and tell stories to the children for an hour. I 
want to ask her to give two hours a day only, 
going to each place once or twice a week ; but 
of course she will need a good deal of time for 
preparation. If she accepts, I will see the 
managers of the various institutions, offer her 
services, and arrange for the hours. I am con- 
fident that they will receive my protege with 
delight, and I am sure that I shall bring the 
good old art of story-telling into fashion again, 
through this gifted little girl. Now, John, what 
do you think ? " 

" I heartily approve, as usual. It is a nov- 
elty, but I cannot see why it 's not perfectly 
expedient, and I certainly can think of no other 
way in which a monthly expenditure of twenty- 
five dollars will carry so much genuine delight 
and comfort to so many different children. 
Carol would sing for joy if she could know of 
your plan." 

" Perhaps she does know it," said Mrs. Bird, 
softly. 



t893-l 



I'Dl.i.V OLIVKR's I'k(Jl!I.EM 



305 



Ami so it was settled. 

Polly's joy and gratitude at Mrs. iiird's pro- 
posal baffles the powers of the narrator. 

It was one of those things pleasant to be- 
hold, charming to imagine, but impossible to 
describe. After Mrs. Bird's carriage had been 
whirled away, she watched 
at the window for Kdgar, 
and. when she saw luiu 
Hearing the steps, did not 
w\ait for him to unlock the 
door, but opened it from the 
top of the stairs, and llew 
down them to the landing 
as lightly as a feather. 

As for Edgar himself. 
he was coming up with un- 
precedented speed, and 
they nearly fell into eacli 
other's arms as they both 
exclaimed, in one breath, 
"Hurrah!" and, then, in 
another, " Who told you ? " 
' *• How did you know 
it ? " asked Edgar. " Has 
Tom Mills been here ? " 

" What is anybod)- by 
the name of Mills to me 
in my present state of 
mind ! " exclaimed Polly. 
" Have you some good 
new^s, too ? If so, speak 
out quickly." 

" Good news ? 1 should 
think I had ; what else 
were you hurrahing about ? 
I 've won the scholarshij), 
and I have a chance to 
earn some money! Tom 
Mills's eyes are in bad con- 
dition, and the oculist says he must wear blue 
goggles and not look at a book for two months. 
His father wrote to me to-day, and he asks if 
I would read over the day's lessons with him 
every afternoon or evening, so that he can keep 
up with the class; and said that if I w^ould do 
him this great service he would be glad to pay 
me any reasonable sum. He ' ventured ' to write 
me on Professor Hope's recommendation." 

" Oh ! Edgar, that is too, too good I " cried 
Vol. XX. — 20. 



Poll), jumping up and down in delight. "Now 

hear my news. \\'hat do you suppose has 

happened ? " 

" Somebody has left you a million." 

" No, no! " (scornfully) " My lady in black, 

Mrs. Donald Bird, has been here all the after- 




POI.I.V KEM 



noon, and she ofTers me twenty-five dollars a 
month to give up the Baer cubs, and tell stories 
tw'O hours a day in the orphan-asylums and the 
Children's Hospital ! Just what I love to do ! 
Just what I always longed to do! Just what I 
would do if I were a billionaire ! Is n't it 
heavenly ? " 

"Well, well ! We are in luck, Polly ! Hurrah! 
Fortune smiles at last on the Noble-Oliver 
household. Let 's have a jollification ! Oh ! I 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



306 

forgot. Tom Mills wants to come to dinner. 
Will you mind ? " 

" Let him come, goggles and all ; \vc '11 have 
the lame and the halt as well as the blind if we 
happen to see any. Mama won't care. I told 
her we 'd have a feast to-night that should vie 
with any of the old Roman banquets ! Here 's 
mv purse; please go down on Polk street — 
ride both ways — and buy anything extravagant 
and unseasonable you can find. Get forced toma- 
toes; we '11 have 'chops and tomato sauce' h. la 
Mrs. Bardell ; order fried oysters in a browned 
loaf; get a quart of ice-cream, the most expen- 
sive variety they have, and a loaf of the richest 
cake in the bakery. Buy roses, or orchids, for 
the table, and give five cents to that dirty little 
boy on the comer there. In short, as Frank 
Stockton says, ' Let us so live while we are up 
that we shall forget we have ever been down ! " 
and Polly plunged up-stairs to make a toilet 
worthy of the occasion. 

The banquet was such a festive occasion that 
Yung Lee's Chinese reserve was sorely tried, 
and he giggled while waiting on the table. 

Polly had donned a trailing black silk skirt 
of her mother's, with a white chuddah shawl 
for a court train, and a white lace waist to top 
it. Her hair was wound into a knot on the 
crown of her head and adorned with three long 
black ostrich feathers, which soared to a great 
height, and presented a most magnificent and 
queenly appearance. 

Tom Mills, whose father was four times a 
millionaire, wondered why they never had such 



gay times at his home, and tried to fancy his 
sister Blanche sparkling and glowing and beam- 
ing over the prospect of earning twenty-five 
dollars a month. 

Then, when bedtime came, Polly and her 
mother talked it all over in the dark. 

"Oh, INLimacita, I am so happy! It 's .such 
a lovely beginning, and I shall be so glad, so 
glad to do it! I hope Mrs. Bird did n't invent 
the plan for my good (for I have been fright- 
fully shabby each time she has seen me), but 
she says she thinks of nothing but the children. 
Now we will have some pretty things, won't 
we? — and oh I do you think, not just now, 
but some time in the distant centuries, I can 
have a string of gold beads ? " 

" I do, indeed," sighed Mrs. Oliver, " You 
are certainly in no danger of being spoiled by 
luxury in your youth, my poor httle PoUikins ; 
but you will get all these things some time, I 
feel sure, if they are good for you, and if they 
belong to you. You remember the lines I read 
the other day : 

" Hast not thy share ? On winged feet, 
Lo ! it rushes thee to meet ; 
And all that Nature made thy own, 
Floating in air or pent in stone, 
Will rive the hills and swim the sea 
And, like thy shadow, follow thee." 

'• Yes," said Polly, contentedly ; " I am satis- 
fied. My share of the world's work is rushing 
to meet me. To-night I could just say with 
Sarah Jewett's Country Doctor, ' My God, I 
thank Thee for my future.' " 



(To be continued.) 



THE CONJURER. 



Bv Julie M. Lippmanx. 



Into the world from far away 

Where the year is always tuned to May 

And the wind sounds soft as a lark aloft, 

A conjurer came once on a day. 

Many a mystic spell he knew 

Wherewith to turn gray skies to blue ; 

To make dull hours grow bright as flowers. 

And tasks that are old turn light as new. 



A touch of his magic wand, and lo ! 
From empty hands sweet favors flow, 
And i)leasures bloom in lives of gloom 
Wliere naught but sorrow seemed to grow. 
( )ut of the stormy sky above 
He brings white Peace, like a heavenly dove. 
His might is sure and his art is pure. 
And his name — the conjurer's name — is Love. 



J:'~> .V *^-' ^ 



.:<B% 



IbeVrow tl)Qt lives k Haarlem Lake ; 






jr& 



Bv Haarlem Lake the old Vrow sits, 
From morn till night she knits and knits, 
She knits the stockings black and white, 
And brown and gray, and loose and tight 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 





^j>- 






' ''^^^ l\^^ lliBV^. '%>^y Vfj^f"!" W^ 



W^.. ■W/I ^4h^' / 



She never stops to eat or sleep, 
She knits the wool all off the sheep, 
She knits the yam all out of shops, 
She knits and knits, and never stops. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 



III. 

And when the sun sets every day, 
She packs the stockings safe away ; 
On every shelf and every board 
By hundreds are the stockings stored. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittetv in de haver. 




,o8 



THE VROW THAT LIVKS BV HAARLEM LAKE. 



IFtB. 




^--c^G- 



X 




'-m^' 



A beggar-child came to her door, 
The child no shoes nor stockings 
\\ore ; 
., I>ut the Vrow, she turned the 
child away. — 
And began to shiver from that day. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittetv in de haver. 



A warm cloak round her she does fold, 
Yet the old \'row is always cold ; 
A roaring fire of logs she makes, 
And yet she shivers and she shakes. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 



IV. 

^^'ith tearless eyes the old Vrow sees 
The \\-inter come and the people freeze; 
In all the country, miles around, 
There 's not a stocking to be found. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 





vn. 



The stubborn kettle mocked her toil ; 

The water froze and would not boil ; 

Within the pan the sausage nice 

Turned to a solid lump of ice. 

Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 

vin. 

She shook with cold, there by herself, 
Till she shook the tea-cups from the shelf; 
She shook the garments from the pegs, 
She shook the tables off their legs. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittetv in de haver. 



i893- 



Tin: VK()\V IIIAT LIVKS liV HAAKI.EM LAKK 



;o9 



X. 

And still she knits from mom till night, 
And gives her stockings left and right ; 
i'he people call her "The good old Vrow," 
And she 's always warm and haj)}))' now. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittetv in de haver. 




Then the old Vrow from the door did call, 
" Come here ! Come here ! good people all ! " 
And all came trooping through the snows, 
And she gave them stockings for their toes. 
Knittety in de claver, 
Knittety in de haver. 



rT-'\ 1 


1 1 






























-* i- 


■m- -J- -m- 
Ilaar • leiii Lake 


the 


old 


VioW 


















ii ^ \ 


1 h 


\ I 


r 












*j "•■ 


-l 


mi m 










~ 



sitH,' From luorii till night she kuits and 



knits. She kuits tlit* stock - ings black and white, And Ijiown and gray and loose and tight. 
CHOEUS. 



it^ — -^ — J^ 


-^ i^- 


—(m-- • 


— 1 


Knit 


■ te 

— s — 


- ty 

s 




iu 

1 ^ 


1e 


ela • 


u 


ver, 

1 


Wi=^ 




^itJ 


c=i 


^ 




^-i^ 


• 


^ 


^— ^" 



Knit - te - ty in de ha 



RAILWAY SPEED AT SEA. 




Bv T. O. Davidson. 



back in the year 
1834, Captain John 
Ericsson, whom we 
all remember as the 
builder of the first 
ironclad " Monitor," 
applied for a patent 
on a screw proi)eller 
to be used in driv- 
ing ships through 
the water. Ten years 
later the secretary of the British Admiralty per- 
suaded that body to make a trial of the new 
machine in the frigate "Arrogant." 

The device was a success. The frigate went 
faster than others of her size using sails alone ; 
she could move about in the water when there 
was no wind, and when other ships were motion- 
less or at anchor ; and although her speed, 
even with the wind, was but litde increased, 
and the sailors growled at having the ship's 
hold filled up with "tea-kettles and b'ilers," 
they had to admit that she was safer in a gale, 
and could go better than before. Popular feel- 
ing was against the, propeller, however, and it 
was not until 1852 that it was placed in the 
larger ships of war. 

All great inventions ha\e to fight their way, 
and this was no exception. It gradually came 
into use among merchant ships, and when the 
naval authorities saw its advantages most of 
the opposition ceased, and they decided to try 
it in the greatest ship they had. The " Windsor 
Casde" had just been completed at the Royal 
Dockyard, Pembroke. She was 255 feet long, 
60 feet wide, and had three tiers of port-holes, 
— room for 120 guns. She was the result of 
years of labor, and was then the greatest war- 
ship in the world. 

It seemed a pity to desecrate this noble 
craft by loads of coal, tons of oily machinery, 
hot boilers, and a company of " greasy engi- 



neers," but it would never do to have Eng- 
land's greatest war-ship lacking in anything 
that could give her greater speed and strength. 
Therefore it was decided to cut the vessel 
in two, and lengthen her so as to accom- 
modate the machinery. She was sawed di- 
rectly through amidships, the stern was pushed 
back twenty-three feet, and the gap built up 
solid with the rest of the ship. When she was 
launched the machinery was put in. Com- 
plete, she was 278 feet long, and carried 20 
more guns. 

In making a report of this great ship to the 
French Navy, Lieutenant Labrousse urged the 
French also to adopt the propeller, and wrote 
that " the use of the screw as a means of pro- 
pulsion is far from diminishing a ship's sailing 
qualities. It is, on the contrary, capable of add- 
i>ig to the certainties of navigation." 

In 1859 we find the "Great Eastern" 
using the propeller, but only as an aid to her 
paddle-wheels. In fact, for many years there- 
after, all the ocean steamers used paddles only. 
The war-ships alone continued to experiment 
with the propellers. 

Now, however, everything has changed in 
favor of the screw, and, except some light river- 
boats drawing little water, all steamers are run 
by propellers. Boats were soon built with pro- 
pellers under the keel, then others used two, 
one on either side of the keel, and now three 
are being successfully operated. 

Then came the days of "forced draft," when 
the fire-rooms were closed up tight, and air 
was i)umped in to go roaring up through the 
chimneys after fanning the fires into greater 
heat. The engines worked faster, and the 
ship's speed was increased ; but the increase 
soon reached a limit, for the boiler-room became 
.so hot that the i)Oor firemen could not stay at 
their j^osts for more than fifteen minutes at a 
time. One hundred and sixty-five degrees was 



RAll.WAV STEED AT SEA. 



I I 



the awful heat they had to work in recently on dred feet high. These have the same effect as 
the fast United States ship "Concord." The the tall factory chimneys on land. The fire- 
men tainted in front of the furnaces, and others men do not find this natural draft so oppressive, 
were hanl to hire. What was to be done? and these smoke-stacks give a steam power that 






THE NEW SHIP OF WAR "BROOKLYN," WITH SM'KI 



HUNDRED FEET HIGH. 



The limit of speed for ships seemed to be 
reached, while more speed was wanted. 

Commodore George W. Melville, of the 
United States Navy, has solved the puzzle by 
designing a ship with smoke-stacks one hun- 



sends the great ship, with spinning screws, at 
the rate of twenty-six miles an hour. And, even 
at this railway speed, she will use so little coal 
that she can run 24,000 miles, or almost around 
the world, without renewing her supply. 



12 



lACK-IN-TME-rLLI'IT, 



[Feb. 




JACK-IX-THE- PULPIT. 



Good DAV to you, my friends I The heart of 
the winter is yours, and Jack at your honorable 
5cr\-ice. The crisp, bright earth, when one knows 
it well, is still as fair as in any month of the twelve. 
One can read the writing of the bare branches 
against the blue ; and this clear, ringing, sport- 
loving winter air makes me glad that a St. Nich- 
olas Jack-in-the-pulpit may be alert in all seasons. 

And here I am reminded of an odd fancy that 
lately came to this pulpit from Adalena F. Dyer. 
You shall have it straightway. The lady calls it 

WHEN JACK FROST PLUCKS HIS GEESE. 

Jack Frost is plucking geese to-day; 

The snowy feathers everywhere, 
Like white doves, take their silent way 

Down through the frosty air. 

They light on roof and fence-top brown, 
They cling to naked trunk and bough, 

They hide 'neath coverlets of down 
The hilltop's blighted brow. 

They linger where the flowers sleep 
In dells by north winds never stirred; 

They build in forest coverts deep 
Warm homes for beast and bird. 

When Jack Frost plucks his downy geese, 
The children watch with noisy mirth, 

To see the soft, white drifts increase, 
And hide the faded earth. 

Young blood is strong and mocks at cold, 
And snow is just as warm as fleece 

To boys and girls who revel hold, 
When Jack is plucking geese. 

This is very pretty, good poet, and as it should 
be. Jack P'rost may pluck his geese in his own 



airy fashion with never a word of reproof from this 
pulpit, you may be sure. 

Now you shall hear my friend, Meredith Nugent 
discourse upon one of the bright doings of that 
bulky, brave and burly fellow — the Elephant : 

AN ELEPHANTS SUNSHADE. 

On hot summer days in New York, when the 
mercury is well up in the nineties, it becomes almost 
a necessity to carry an umbrella, or shade of some 
kind, to protect ourselves from the burning rays of 
the sun. We should hardly expect, however, a native 
of India — residing in this city — to have the same 
need for a sunshade, particularly when the native 
is a huge Indian elephant. That an elephant 
should feel the heat in our climate seems rather 
absurd, but as he docs, it is quite in keeping with 
the general intelligence of this animal that he 
should invent some means of protecting himself 
from it. 

The elephant inclosure in Central Park contains 
no trees nor shade of any kind, and on those hot 
days when the heat is almost unbearable, it seems 
hotter there than any place in New York. Grouped 
around the inclosure are usually scores of persons, 
many with sunshades and umbrellas, intently watch- 
ing the elephants. Some of the huge animals are 
carefully tossing hay upon their own backs, whilst 
others, whose backs are almost covered, may be 
seen peacefully resting. Newly mown grass is what 
the elephant prefers for this purpose, — perhaps be- 
cause it feels cooler than hay, — but hay answers 
the purpose very well. How many visitors to the 
park on these warm days have realized that they 
were not the only ones carrying sunshades, and 
that the elephants were protecting themselves in 
like fashion ! 

The fact that elephants never attempt to thatch 
their backs with hay during the winter, although 
the same opportunities for doing so exist, seems to 
prove that they use the hay as a protection from 
heat. They may sportively throw a little hay about, 
but nothing more. How ever, in fly-time, there are 
good and sufficient reasons for the animals adopt- 
ing the same means of defense again ; therefore, 
when the flies are fierce, the elephants cover their 
huge backs as on hot summer days. One can 
readily see that in this way their backs would be 
admirably protected from flics, while the constant 
tossing of hay so that it (Ms all over the body would, 
for a while, keep the annoying insects at bay. The 
elephants will keep the flies away in this manner 
even when under cover. 

That elephants should be troubled by flies seems 
almost as odd as that they should feel the sun of 
our climate. Their powerful bodies are covered 
with a skin that one would think would be proof 
against all flies, but in spite of the elephant's rug- 
gedness, he is a most sensitive creature. In his 
native country, when carrying travelers, he will 
sometimes stop by the roadside, select a leafy 
switch about five feet long, and keep the flies at 
bay by flapping his great body with it. 

In their wild state, I suppose, elephants go out 
in the sun but very little; the natural histories 



.893.] 



JACK-lX-TIIK-l'LI riT. 



0'J> 







THE ELEPHANT PROTECTS HIS BACK IN HOT WEATHER. 



speak of their going to the pools at night to quench 
thirst and to enjoy a froUc in the water. In the day- 
time they usually are found beneath the friendly 
shade of a grove of trees. Of course, with this nat- 
ural shade there would be no necessity for them 
to protect themselves from the sun by artiticial 
means, and the fact that they thatch their backs in 
Central Park to shield them is only another proof 
of the wonderful intelligence which these animals 
always exhibit. 

THE ANT AS AN ENGINEER. 
Now comes another curious story — a true story, 
showing the ingenuity and skill of the little ants 
that, I am told, often find their way into home- 
pantries, and vex the souls of housekeepers. The 
author, Lutie E. Deane, for reasons of her own, 
tells this bit of natural history in verse ; and so in 
verse you shall hear it : 

The pastry was delicious, and I wanted it myself, 
So I put it in the pantry on the very lowest shelf; 
And to keep it from the insects, those ants so red and 

small, 
I made a river round it of molasses, best of all. 

But the enemy approached it, all as hungry as could he, 
And the captain with his aide-de-camp just skirmished 
round to see 



Whether they could ford this river, or should try some 

other plan, 
And together with his comrades he around the liquid 

ran. 

To his joy and satisfaction, after traveling around. 
The place where the molasses was the narrmuest he 

found; 
Then again he reconnoitered, rushing forward and then 

back. 
Till he spied some loosened plaster in the wall around a 

tack. 

He divided then his forces, with a foreman for each 

squad, 
And he marshaled tlie whole army and before him 

each ant trod. 
His directions all were given; to his chiefs he gave a 

call ; 
\Vliile he headed the procession as they marched off 

up the wall. 

Every ant then seized his plaster, just a speck and 

nothing more, 
And he climbed and tugged and carried till he 'd 

brought it to the shore; 
Then they built their bridge, just working for an hour 

by the sky, 
After whicli they all marched over and all fell to 

eating pie. 



r 




Ruij:!^ or TM ff=^ LwO^ 





Bv Felix Leigh. 



Thkee elves sailed forth on a flake of snow, 
And a great wind soon began to blow, 
" We must take in sail at once," said they, 
"With a yeo, heave hoi — heave ho, belay ! " 




Then they looked about them, fore and aft. 

But they found no sail on their snowflake 

craft. 

" We must port our helm instead," said they, 

"With a yeo, heave ho! — heave ho, belay I " 

But, alas, there wasn't a helm to shift. 
So they ran aground on a big snowdrift. 
" This is 7/7 bad seamanship," said they, 
" With a yeo, heave ho I — heave ho, belay ! " 

" You can 't reef sails that you have n't got, 
Or port your helm where a helm is not ; 
But we know what should be done," said they, 

" With a yeo, heave ho ! — heave ho, belay ! " 

To Klftown straight from that spot they sped, 

.\nd they paced the streets with a naval tread. 

" ' T was a most successful cruise," said they, 

"With our yeo, heave hoi — heave ho, belay," 



3'4 





«r.r^£>? 



bur lie childTer? coming in q be 
E briRp Iheir QH?er Q\6bntir7e. 



'f qB ll?e pretj 5irl5,fQr and near. 
f?e prettiest b rr?y QQama dean 






"Tie'^Te^ 



& proudest Knight in all the lond 
'CMS IcKJ to ki55 bis Quotes f?Qnd 



l^a^v^ 



:lRe rose is " ifed ,lhe violets blue 
u9Qr5 sweet, and so are ^ou 




EDITORIAL NOTES. 



The frontispiece to this number of Sr. Nicholas 
shows a very remarkable occurrence — one that is per- 
haps without a parallel in all history. During the in- 
vasion of Holland by the army of the first French Re- 
public, in 1794, word was brought to the invaders that 
some of the Dutch ships were ice-bound in the Zuyder 
Zee, and that the ice was thick enough to bear horsemen. 
The French Hussars were at once sent galloping over 
the ice, and succeeded in capturing the Dutch men-of- 
war — probably the only case where horsemen have cap- 
tured an enemy's fleet at sea. 



Ano ruER picture, that on page 296, is especially inter- 
esting because it is taken from an actual photograph of 
two snake-charmers and their cobras. St. Nicholas 
will give in an early number a paper by Mr. G. P. 
O'Reilly, explaining how some of the Eastern snake- 
charmers perform their feats. 



Two of the illustrations to the article" Battling under 
Water " show instances of torpedo warfare, during our 
CiWl War, — the destruction of the "Tecumseh," which 
led the fleet when Admiral Farragut passed the forts at 
Mobile Bay, as described in a striking paper published 
in The Century for June, 1881 ; and the sinking of the 
Confederate ram " Albemarle," while anchored in the 
Roanoke River, N. C. Of this exploit Captain Warley, 
commander of the Albemarle, declared, " A more gallant 



tiling was not done during the war." In The Century 
for July, 1S88, Lieutenant Cushing, who destroyed the 
ram, has told the thrilling story of his expedition. 

A letter from the author of the article on submarine 
boats, received since that article was put into type, gives 
some later information. He writes : 

The " Gymnote " has proved her sujieriority by severe 
trials in the harbor of Toulon, and the "Zede," a new 
boat now nearly complete, will Ije an even bettor boat of 
the same general kind. The " Peral " has lately failed 
to meet the requirements of a commission of Spanish 
naval experts. An experimental boat has been designed 
and ])uilt by Naval Constructor Pullini, of Italy; it is of 
one hundred tons burden, driven by an electric motor, 
carries four men, and can remain under water for five 
hours. Other details and its actual merits are not yet 
known. Mr. George C. Baker, of Chicago, has built and 
tried a new boat, that has a wooden, walnut-shaped 
hull, is of seventy-five tons burden, driven by steam 
when on the surface and by electricity when submerged. 
Her side-screws not only propel the boat but regulate 
her sinking. Her trial was on the Detroit River, May 
24, 1892, in the presence of the Chief of the Navy Bureau 
of Ordnance and other Government experts. With a 
crew of two men, and supplied with only natural air, she 
remained under water for I hour and 45 minutes. She 
kept on an even keel, rose and descended repeatedly, and 
was completely in control of her pilot. She is regarded 
as a very promising boat — next to the Gymnote and 
Zede. Mr. Baker had no knowledge of the subject till 
attracted to it by magazine and periodical articles two or 
three years ago, and yet he has now succeeded in making 
the second-best boat. 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



Portsmouth, N. H. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have taken you for thirteen 
years, and I don't believe we have missed one number. 
First you were taken for my eldest sister, and as she 
c;rew older there were the rest of us to read you. There 
are six children, — four girls and two boys, — so you see 
we have a nice big family. One of my sisters is at 
Smith's College, and we often have long and interest- 
ing letters from her. 

My father is stationed at a naval hospital near Mt. 
Desert, .Maine, where we go every summer. Papa is 
the surgeon, and as there are no patients, we have a good 
deal of fun. We play tennis, croquet, and go rowing, but 
what we like most is sailing. One flay we went ([uite 
far out to sea. The waves were high, and the bosv of 
the sloop went under water. My lirother and one of his 
frjenrls were standing near the bow. A big wave came, 
and the sailor, seeing it, turned the sloop in such a way 
that they got a good ducking. I guess they felt rather 
wet. .Anyhow, the water just dripped off them as if 
they had jumped overboard. 

I remain your lf)ving reader, 

Mary W. H . 



Mt. St. Joseph, Chest.vut Hill, Pa. 

De.\r Si. Nicholas : Our class have had most of your 
letters and short stories for dictation, and we have never 
yet seen a letter from Chestnut Hill, so we have each to 
write one for our composition this week. The best ones 
are going to be sent ; mine is going first, and I hope it 
will not be the last. 

We have been taking you ever since there was such a 
magazine as St. Nicholas, and we shall never stop 
taking you, for you are so interesting. We have many 
hound volumes of you in the library, and happy is the 
one whose turn it is to read one of these. 

I am twelve vears old, and have been going to boarding- 
school — Mt. Joseph's, on the Wissahickon — for three 
years; I am very happy here. I am in "Junior B," 
and we have nine in the class. We are a very happy party 
of girls when at play, and very studious in study-lime; 
our time is divitled into periods of three-quarters of an 
hour. We rise very early, and retire generally at about 
half-past eight; the children of the Elementary Depart- 
ment go to the " Land of Shut-eye" at aljoul half-past 
seven. On Saturdays we take long \\ alks ; on Sundays 
we write our letters. 



316 



THE LETlKR-noX. 



3^7 



After supper \vc are always free for ahoul an liour 
and a half, ami iluiiiij; that time we dame, play some 
games, or, if we are tired, a Sister reads us a siory from 
your majjazine. 

Recreation days are the glorious limes, for tiien we are 
free all day loiifj ; on those jjolden days a party of us get 
together, play ball, lawn-tennis, or whatever we have 
arranged to do. For weeks previous we have our pro- 
gram made out. In the evenings of those free days we 
Usually dross up in costume. 

1 remain your interested reader, Ss nil. Cl . 



Canada. 

Dear St. Nichoi_as: I think I will write you some- 
thing about the celebrated Thousand Islands, near which 
we live, and let some buys and girls know something 
about the beauties of our Canatlian scenery. 

Part of the great St. Lawrence River is covered wifh 
islands of all sizes. On some of these islands there are 
built beautiful summer residences, which are occupied 
through the summer months by families from all over 
Canada ami the United States. 

Last summer thtre was a government auction of the 
islands, and purchasers were obliged, within two years, 
to have a residence built on their island costing not less 
than one thousand dollars. Some of these islands are 
owned by very distinguished jiersonages. 

The finest of all the islands is the Thousand Island 
Park, on which is built a hotel where there are many 
Americans. Tv\ o summers ago it was burned, but it has 
since been rebuilt. 

Vou are sent to us by a kind lady, who has sent you 
for five years. 

Wishing you every success, and a Merry Christmas 
and a bright and prosperous New Year, I am your loving 
admirer, H. >I. F . 



Tarrvtown, Xkw York. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am going to tell you about 
some ivy. It is a true story. 

About Christmas-time, last year, I saw it peeping 
througli the ventilation hole, which is under the fireplace. 
I wanted to keep it a secret, so I did not tell any one. 
About six months afterward my sister called our atten- 
tion to it ; the rest were very surprised, but of course I 
was not, as I had seen it before. The ventilation hole 
connects with outdoors, where there is some ivy grow- 
ing. It had a hard time growing outside, so one branch 
came through. It shows that life can go into darkness 
and come out as fresh as ever. 

I remain your devoted reader, Ethel G . 



Athens, Ga. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl thirteen years 
old. I go to Sapelo Island, on the coast of Georgia, 
every summer, to \'isit my grandpa. I have a lovely 
time there ; all of my cousins come too. 

I learned to swim there. We go in bathing every day. 

Once last summer we went out on a pilot-boat, and 
we met a tug-boat bringing in a schooner. 

The last time you came was my birthday, and I read 
you all day. Your little reader, Susie B . 



Franklin, Ohio. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl eleven years 
old. Last winter my papa and mama took me to Cuba, 
and I thought I would tell you about it. 

At Port Tampa, Florida, we took a steamer for Cuba. 
It was a beautiful boat, called the "Olivette." 

Tiie steamer left the wharf at night. All the next day 
we were on the water. That night the boat reached 



Key West, anchored there about two hours, and the next 
n)orning, at daybreak, entered tiie iiarbor of Havana, but 
we couM not go up to liie wharf, for ours was an Ameri- 
can i)oal, so we anchored near the dock. 

Presently a great many little boats came flocking 
around us ; they were very small, and had a framework 
over the scats with a piece of canvas stretched over it. 

We took a boat and went ashore. When we got there, 
we entered a hack and rode to the hcttel. Such ()ueer 
sights as we saw — so many uniformed soldiers, aiul lit- 
tle mules with bright reel tassels on their harness. 

Every morning jjefore i)reakfast we went out on the 
balconies and watched guard-mounting, and after break- 
fast we went to market. I thought it was the (jueere£;t 
of all. 

They bring the things to market by placing immense 
panniers made of straw on the horse's l)ack, and loading 
them down \\ith sugar-cane, and potatoes, and oranges 
and bananas, and a great many other things. 

We stayed in Cuba ten days, and then went back to 
Port Tampa. It was a novel and pleasant experience. 

Yours sincerely, Agnes M. R . 




A BIRD S-EVE VIEW OF UNCLE SAM. 



Mattapoisett, ^L^ss. 

Dear Editor of St. Nicholas I am a little girl, 
seven years old. 

I had four allegateors sent nie from florida. Three have 
died from a disese, my uncle calles itdispeptia, the other 
one seems to miss them but still eats. My uncle says he 
weeps crocodile tears, but aint he funny. I hope you will 
print my letter as I want to surprise uncle Georgy. 

Please excuse my spelling. 

Your ever reader Flossie H . 



Philadelphia, Pa. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have read so many letters 
from your readers that I thought you could find a little 
room for my letter. 

I have traveled all over Europe; I have also been 
South and West. When I was at Bremen I went to a 
fair, which is given every year. It is usually given the 
last of October. 

Bremen is not a very large town ; it has few streets. 

There is one street which is very wide, and it runs 
through a small park. This street goes to another street 
where all the shops are. 

Near this street is an open square, where there is a 
large circus. This circus is not like the ones in America. 
It is in a large wooden house. Inside it is very pretty; 
the seats are more like the ones in an opera-house. 



3i8 



THE LETTER-BOX. 



There is only one ring in the middle, and only one thing 
at a time is going on. Next to the circus is a merry-go- 
round, and other amusements. The streets during the 
fair are crowded. On both sides of the streets are stands 
or counters with covers. The best time to see the fair 
is bv night, when the streets are lighted. 

I am sincerely yours, Anita Lenore H . 



Johnstown, Wyo. 

Dear St. Nicholas: The story "Two Girls and a 
Boy " has interested me a great deal because my past 
summer's experience is so similar to Mildred's. 

Thoui^h I did n't come from Washington and did n't 
go to California, I came from Hartford, Connecticut, to 
Wyoming; and I know just how Mildred felt when she 
was on tne trains, and when she crossed the Missouri 
River. 

When we reached the end of our railroad journey. 
Papa met us with the same kind of a wagon that Mildred 
rode to her cousin's ranch in. 

Don't you think it is very queer that the ranch we are 
on is called the " Sweet Water " ranch too ? 

We had to ride sixty-five miles in a wagon, while Mil- 
dred only had to ride thirty. 

My brother and I can ride horseback pretty well. We 
each have a pony. 

I am eleven years old. 

From a reader who looks forward to you every month. 
Katharine G. C . 



Fort Sam, Houston, Texas. 

De.ar St. Nicholas: I think maybe your readers 
might be interested in how my sister Marion and myself 
were in quarantine this summer. We went north and 
passed a very pleasant summer in the Catskills and other 
places, and we returned home during the cholera scare 
in September, on the S. S. " Comal," with our friend Cap- 
tain R , with whom we had sailed four times before. 

We had a very pleasant time on board, and the captain 
was very kind to us. 

When we were going out of New "\'ork harbor, we 
passed the cholera ships and looked at them with great 
curiosity, wondering how it would seem to be quaran- 
tined, not dreaming that we ourselves might be. When 
we reached Galveston Bay we were told by the pilot we 
were to be quarantined five days. We were very much 
surprised, and wondered how we should pass the time ; 
but, oh I it passed too quickly. We had great fun riding 
backward and forward on the tug, the " Hygeia," which 
took the things from the ship to the island on which the 
fumigator was. There we bathed and fished, and I never 
enjoyed anything more. The quarantine doctor. Dr. 

B , was very kind to us, and he and the captain did 

everything in their power for us. When the end came 
we were very, very sorry indeed, and we then returned 
home. 

Of course we were glad to get home, and I found a 
safety bicycle awaiting my arrival. It was a present from 
papa. We each have a jiony, and both of them are white, 
and we enjoy riding them very much. 

Your sincere reader, Alice White B . 



New York City. 
My Di.ar St. Nicholas : I am going to tell you of 
the lovely times I have in the country. Our country 
residence is in the eastern part of New York State, nine 
miles' drive from Schenectady. When I am there I ride 
horseback and drive. I was also in Dorchester, Mass., 
in the summer. One day we went to Salem and saw 



many historical things. One was a church that was built 
in 1629; the l)eams are the same old ones, but the siding 
is new. In Essex Institute we saw the lock from the 
door of the room in which the Declaration of Indepen- 
dence was written, the mittens and shirt that Governor 
Bradford was baptized in, the carving-knife and fork that 
Napoleon Bonaparte used at St. Helena, a piece of the 
chair Penn sat in when he made the treaty with the 
Indians, and two bottles of the tea that was thrown over- 
board at the Boston tea-party, — it was found in the shoes 
of Lot Cheever after removing his disguise, — and many 
other things. I am your constant reader, " Peggy." 



THE "DEESTRICK SKILE." 



BV ANNA MARLATT PIERCF (TEN YEARS OLD). 

We go everyday 

To a little school. 
Where the teacher is strict 

If you break a rule. 

And the scholars are fond 
Of their studies and books, 

And don't get from the teacher 
Many bad looks. 

But sometimes the boys 
Have to go in a corner. 

Where they can't have a plum. 
Like "little Jack Horner." 

And some are kept in 
If they break a rule. 

And thev don't like that part 
Ofthe'"Deestrick Skule." 



Birmingham, Ct. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you what hap- 
pened last night. We live on a farm and have several 
horses. There is a wood-house attached to the house. 
My bedroom is in the corner of the house nearest the 
wood-house, and last night I heard a good deal of noise 
in the wood-house ; it sounded like a horse stamping. 
Papa went down into the shed, and there, in the dark. 
was one of our oldest horses eating apples out of a bag. 

I have taken the St. Nicholas a long time, ever since 
1880, and I like it very much. 

Your lo\nng reader, Owen S . 



We thank the young friends whose names follow for 
jileasant letters recei\ed from them: Nora K., Frank 
S. C, C. H. B., Edmund O., I. L. J. M., Phvllis W., 
Charlie A., E. E. M., L. M. V., Maude M., Cfaire Van 
G., Madelaine and Juliette F., Elsie C. C, Neely T., Na- 
than A., Robert W^ M., Daisy R., E. M. B., Marguerite 
and Nona S., Margaret I). R., Edward B. S., Margaret 
H., Edith and Stuart H., L. B., E. B., Muriel W. C, 
Estelle S. de G., Diana H., Louise M. W., .Xdelaide, 
Louise P., Rh^a E., Gertrude H., Mabel B., Flora C. 
and Grace B., Theresa B., Sarah L., E. G. M., Elizabeth 
IF. M.. B. D. M. and G. S. R., Charles G. N. Jr., George 
R. DcB., Harriet C. T., J. \. La F'., Edwin B., Agnes 
B., losc-ph K. A., Alice Mc.\., Ethel C, M.^rie 0.,Sara 
L. IL, N. and S., Olga B.. Vida L., Edna I. D., Muriel 
A. B., Hazel S., Gav R. T., T. L., A. B. D., M. A. G. 
and A. C. IL, Ellen J., Hazel L. E., Evan T. S. 



ANSWlikS TO I'UZZI.Kb IN 

rrimnls, 1) : finals, opposite. Cross-words: 
Drop. 4. Dodo. 5. Dais. 6. Demi. 7. Dint. 

K, F.d, den, rend, trend, lender, tenders, resi- 



Dol'llLE ACKOSTR'. 

I. Dido. a. Deep. 3. 
8. Dime. 

WoRD-ni'ILIllNG. 

dent, president. 

PENT.\CiONS. Counter-charmed. I. i C. 2. Boa. 3. Bouts. 
4. Counter. 5. Attire. 6. Serge. 7. Reel. II. 1. C. 2. She. 
<. Shard. 4. Charmed. 5. Krniinc. 6, Dents. 7. Desk. 

Zigzag. " Mantu.-»n Swan." Cross-words: i. Mob. 2. Car. 3. Bin. 
4. Ate. 5. Una. 6. Sap. 7. Ban. 8. Ask. 9. Wan. 10. Tan. 11. Fun. 

Syncoi'ATIONS. Murillo. i. Chamois, mosaic. 2. Premium, um- 
pire. 3. Correct, rector. 4. Diction, indict. 5. Elegant, legate. 
6. Cilisten, legist. 7. Inroads, ordain. 

ILLUSTRATE15 METAMORPHOSIS. HcnS, IcilS, legs, logS, COgS, 

cows, cowl, coil, coin, coon, coop. 

To oiiR Puzzlers: Answers, to be acknowledged in the magazine, must be received not later than the 15th of each month, and 
should be addressed to St. Nicholas " Riddle-box," care of The Centlkv Co., 33 East Seventeenth St., New York City. 

Answers to all the Pizzles in the November Ni'mbek were received, before November 15th, from Josephine Sherwood — 

1,. o. E. Maude E. Palmer — I'aul Reese— "Guion Line and Acme Slate Co."— "The McCi's" — Chester H. Sumner— Mama and 

Jamie— E. M. G, — Uncle Mung— "The Peterkins"— Helen C. McCleary — Alice Mildred Blanke and Co. — Jo and I — " The Wise 

Five minusjim" "Infantry" — "Hector and Rhipeus " — "Cranston and Doctor" — Ida C. Thallon — Blanche and Fred— Ida and 

Alice. 

-Answers to Plzzles in the Novembf.r Nimbek were received, before November 15th, from Minnie and Lizzie, i — Elaine S., i— 
Carrie Chester, i— Grace Isabel Shirley, i — S. A. Gardner, i— C. Wagner, i — Alice V, Farquhar, 3— Mama and Clara,^—" Stars 
.ind Stripes," i— Etta and Agnes Sonntag, i — E. S. Bauer, i — H. M. Landgraff, i- 
Nannie L., i — " Mama and Sadie," 4 — Effie K. Talboys, 7— Melville Hunnewell, 5- 



THE JANUARY NUMBER. 

C"oNCEALEU Words. " Toys" and " candy." 
Hollow Star. From i to 2, cantata; i 103, crabbed; 2103, 
aground ; 4 to 5, canvass ; 4 to 6, charred ; 5 to 6, subdued. 
Pi. 1 hear yon, blithe new year, ring out your laughter 

And promises so sweet: 
I see the circling months that follow after. 

Arm-linked, with waltzing feet. 
Before my door I stand to give you greeting. 

As swift you speed along. 
And hear afar the echoes still repeating 
Your trills of jocund song. 
Connecteb Squares. I. i. Idaho. 2. Droop. 3. Aorta 

4. Hotel. 5. Opals. II. i. Rollo. 2. Ocean. 3. Leaps. 4. Lapse. 

5. Onset. III. 1. Solar. 2. Osage. 3. Laden. 4. Agent. 5. Rents. 
IV. I. Taper. 2. Amice. 3. Pills. 4. F^clat. 5. Rests. 



■ D. Neville Smith, i — F. E. and A. T. R., i — 
_ _ _____ _ Hubert L. Bingay, 7 — Laura M. Zinser, 7 — Jessie 

Chapman, 10 — D. F. Hereford, 8— Nellie Archer, 3 — Bessie R. Crocker, 5 — Gwendolen Reid, 6— Louise L. Hubbard, 2 — Harriet L. 
Rose, I — Elizabeth C. Grant, 3— Lillian Davis, i— "Number Thirteen," 2— Rosalie Bloomingdale, 9 — " May and '79,"4— "Wc 
Girls," 8 — " Wareham," 10 — Mama and Marion, 3. 



DOUBLE ACROSTIC. 

My primals and finals name the same hero. 

Cross-\vords (of equal length): i. A famous soldier. 
2. A river flowing into the Atlantic Ocean. 3. The 
stale of a poet. 4. A musical term meaning " indis- 
pensable." 5. The quantity sufficient to fill a ladle. 6. 
To relax or weaken. 7. A Scripture narrative set to 
music. 8. A famous Corsican. ".sc.«VOLA." 

CONNECTED DIA3IONDS. 



III. Central Diamond : i. In flocks. 2. A state 
of equality. 3. Popish. 4. A large letter. 5. Classed. 
6. A youth. 7. In flocks. 

IV. Right-hand Diamond: i. In flocks. 2. A 
lUg. 3. A slimy substance. 4. I'ithy. 5- A musical 
adjuster. 6. A title. 7. In flocks. 

V. Lower Diamond: i. In flocks. 2. A vehicle. 
3. To provide food. 4. Pertaining to the sides. 5. A 
small fruit. 6. A line of light. 7. In flocks. H. 

DIAMOND. 



I. In singer. 2. A number. 3. Modifies. 4. A 
book of the Old Testament. 5. Collections of boxes. 
6. A familiar abbreviation. 7. In singer. 

M. S. HUTTON. 



NUMERICAL, ENIGMA. 



I. Upper Diamond: i. In flocks. 2. .\ unit. 
3. Faulty. 4. Pertaining to the hip. 5. To hinder. 
6. A very small draught. 7. In flocks. 

II. Left-hand Dia.mond : i. In flocks 
masculine nickname. 3. A giver. 4. A crank, 
braied. 6. Disencumber. 7. In flocks. 



2. A 
Cele- 



I .\M composed of one hundred and nine letters, and am 
a saying of Beau Brummel's. 

My 43-62-94 is to entreat. My 80-70-55-13 is twelve 
months. My 48-21-40-89-5 -108-29 is an apparition. 
My 58-99-45-84-16 is a hard, black wood. My 37-82- 
104-19-II is very particular. My 27-65-74-33-92-76 is 
ordinary quartz. My 87-2-22-60-63 is a sea-duck. My 
17-24-34-8 is gaunt. My 67-96-72-15-78 is a passage 
into which the pews of a church open. My 1-52-3-105 - 
69-6-98-109 is one whose pursuits are those of ci\il life. 
My 90-;i0-57-i02 is a strong broth. My 32-107-59-20- 
9 is a king of Tyre, mentioned in the second book of 
Samuel. My 26-86-36-41 is the "Buckeye State." 
My 56-14-101 is suitable. My 88-83-64-38-47 is the 
smallest liquid measure. My 77-4-93-42-81 is the 
greenlet. ]\Iy 49-IOO-1S-35-71 -44-25-75 i- grace. My 
79-54-10-95-103-51 is obscurity. My 7-1 2-23-28-3 1 - 
39-46-50-53-61-66-68- 73-85-91-97-106 are all the same 
consonant. 



320 



THE RIDDLE-BOX. 



ILLUSTRATED Pl'ZZLE. 

Find in the accompanying badge the name of a fa- 
mous American, and a quotation from a eulogy upon 
him. J. c. B. 



A HKXAGOX. 




I. A soft mineral. 2. Watcliful. 3. 
Residents. 4. Having the margin cut 
into rounded notches or scallops. 5. 
Followed by some mark that had been 
left by a person or thing thai had pre- 
ceded. 6. A spirited horse for state 
or war. 7. A. mythological book of 
the old Scandina\-ian tribes. C. n. 

PROVERB PUZZLE. 

In each of the ten following sayings 
a word of five letters is omitted. 
When these ten words are rightly 
guessed and placed one below another, 
in the order here given, the central let- 
ters, reading downward, will spell the 
name of a famous poet, who was born 
in February, 1807. 

1. Idle * » » * * are always med- 
dling. 

2. A bird is ***** by its note, 
and a man by his talk. 

3. Make yourself all * * * * *, and 
the flies will devour you. 

4. A * » * * * is a fool's argument. 

5. * » * * » a fool your finger, and 
he will take your whole hand. 

6. A small leak will sink a ***** 
ship. 

7. A person's ***** ought to 
be liis greatest secret. 

8. He that shows his ill temper * » 
» * « his enemy where he may liit 

him. 

9. A rascal » » » * * rich has lost 
all his kindred. 

10. Do as most do, and ***** 
will speak evil of thee. 

"TOM .NODDY." 

ANAGRAM. 

A distinguished poet: 

BLESS YE, CHEERY SYLPH. 

BEHEADINGS. 

I. Behead the staff of life, and leave 
to peruse. 2. Behead a place of dark- 
ness, and leave a pictorial enigma. 
3. Behead to attain by stretching forth 
the hand, and leave every. 4. Behead 
an unbeliever, and leave a believer. 5. 
Behead having little distance from side- 



to side, and leave a mi.-.sile weapon of oflfense. 6. Be- 
head an apparition, and leave a number of men gath- 
ered for war. 7. Behead agitation of mind, and leave 
action. S. Behead a large river, 
and leave a whetstone. 

The beheaded letters will spell 
the name of a French lyric poet, 
born in Paris, in 1780. 

A. \V. ASIIHLRST. 






■--S/ 



^'.a 



^^>^ 



,^3 



'^ 



A CO.MPLEX SyUARE. 



Across: i. A fish. 2. To be di- 
minished. 3. An exterior covering of 
a seed. 4. A hitleous cry. 

Downward: i. To swing from 
side to side. 2. A fleet animal. 3. A 
plant yielding indigo. 4. A woody glen. 

t rom I to 4, to begin a voyage ; from 
4 to I, a geological stratum. 

ELDRED IlTNGERlCH. 



PRIMAL ACROSTIC. 

All the words described contain the 
same number of letters. When rightly 
guessed and placed one below the other, 
the initials will spell a famous battle. 

Cross-words: i. A thin cake. 2. 
To change in some respect. 3. A sub- 
ject on which a person writes. 4. .\ 
gold coin of the United States. 5. To 
rule. 6. A spear carried by horsemen. 
7. A color. 8. To suppose. 

"JOKER AND CLIP." 

HOLLOW STAR. 

4 



From 1 to 2, a slender rod on which 
anything turns; from I to 3, arachnids ; 
from 2 10 3, enrolls ; from 4 to 5, aching ; 
from 4 to 6, short oars ; from 5 to 6, con- 
jectures. "ANNA CONDOR."' 

RHOMBOID. 

Across: i. A snake found in In- 
dia. 2. An insect. 3. A cover for the 
front of a dress. 4. A short fishing- 
line. 5. More aged. 

Downward: i. In turkey. 2. A 
tone r>( the diatonic scale. 3. .\n ec- 
clesiastical pitcher. 4. Little demons. 
5. All inferior kind of tin-plate. 6. An 
implement. 7. To bow slightly. 8. A 
Latin prefix. 9. In turkey. 

"XELIS." 



THk L>fc VINNfc I'RhsS, NEW YORK. 




/'v¥' 



THE BOYS CARTOON. 



ST. NICHOLAS. 



Vol. XX. 



MARCH, 1893 



No. 5. 



THE BOY'S CARTOON. 

{Scene: Florence, A. D. IS40) 



By Margaret J. Preston. 



Good Master ! I crave your service. See, 
I am not the beggar I seem to be ; 
Though you '11 say, as I tell my story o'er, 
It is such as you 've often heard before. 

'T is not for myself," he sobbing said, — 
'T is not for myself I 'm asking bread : 
But my mother is breaking her heart to-day ; 
For she 's ill, and may lose her place, they say. 
In the silk-mill. If I could only get 
A florin or two, she might hold it yet. 
Old Tito, the picture-dealer, said 
He would give me enough to buy us bread 
For a month or more, should I chance to 

meet 
Some one of your craft upon the street, 
And beg him to draw on the panel I hold 
A sketch of the Sibyl gaunt and old 
Whom the greatest of Florentine painters all 
Has drawn on the Sistine Chapel wall. 
A dozen I 've asked, good Master mine. 

Copyright, 1893, by The Cent 
323 



But none of them paused to draw a line. 
You have pencils with you. Dare I claim 
A picture, in charity's holy name?" 

With a kindly look on his stern sad face. 
The artist at once began to trace 
The Sibyl ancient, and with such art 
As quickened the throb of the boy's warm 

heart. 
No word as he worked did he deign to say. 
But, signing his name, he went his way. 

" Whose name is this ? " asked the boy of one 
To whom he displayed the picture done. 

"Where got you — ?"came the question. 
" Who 
Has given a prize so rich to you ? 
Why, lad, that one cartoon you hold 
Will bring you many a piece of gold ; 
And that you, a Florentine, should not know 
The name! — It is Michelangelo!" 

I'RY Co. All rights reserved. 



IHlLADELrHIA IN 1720. 



PHILADELPHIA— A CITY OF HOMES. 



By Talcott Williams. 



States and cities exist to make families 
comfortable, because this makes children com- 
fortable. Unless the children are comfortable 
now, the next generation will fare ill. If you, 
my dear boy and girl, who are reading this 
page, are comfortably seated ; if you have light 
enough on these lines; if the air about you is 
pure : if you find the house you are in a true 
home, be it large or small ; if you are not told 
every time you jump not to make too much 



noise, or the people above or below will object ; 
if the street is safe for you at all hours of the 
day or evening; if it is, as nearly as may be, like 
a village street, quiet and clean, and not like a 
city street, noisy and noisome ; if there is room 
for you to play outside the house, and room in- 
side its walls to amuse yourself; if you are fed 
and warm, and happy — above all, if you feel 
in your house an atmosphere of security, and 
understand in a dim way that father and mother 



,v ^-w— <:^ 








fC>,„»n .".ihtll 




BIRDS-EVE VIEW OF PHILADEI.rHIA FROM CAMDEN, N. J., — DELAWARK KIVKK IN FORKr.K( 



•893) 



I'llll.ADKLI'UIA A CITY OF HOMES. 



325 



own the spot tailed home and arc safe there, 
then, as far as you are concerned, — and to the 
extent that this is true as far as all children 
are concerned, — the I'nited States is a success. 
Unless there are a great many more of you 
children enjoying all I have said than are with- 
out such comforts, then the Ihiited States is a 
Hiilure, no matter how big, or how rich, or how 
populous it may be, or how glorious its history. 
The I'nited States is 
here first, and chieily, 
not to make history, as 
you might imagine 
from your school histo- 
ries, but to make fami- 
lies and their children 
comfortable in houses 
of their own. Failing 
to do that, it fails in all. 
This is just as true of 
cities as it is of coun- 



is not a Jamily street, and the seething and tur- 
bid tiile of city life wells and swells past its 
door, then neither the family nor the children 
will be comfortable. The city has failed. 

It may, like Paris, fill its galleries with paint- 
ings worth a king's ransom, and sculpture 
which men cross sea and land to see for a brief 
moment and remember for a lifetime ; it may 
carry its Eiffel Tower to the skies and set a light 



tries. Their first busi- 
ness is to make children 
comfortable. They 

may wax large and 
great, and be famed 
and known without do- 
ing this, but even then 
they are just where the 
base-ball player is if 
he makes third and 
yet misses the home- 
plate. So far as winning the game goes, he 
might just as well have gone out on three strikes. 
His base-hits may help his record and win a 
cheer, but they do not win the game unless he 
gets home. The only way to make children 
comfortable is to make families comfortable; 
and the best way to make families comfortable 
is to put each in a separate house which it owns. 
As far as a city succeeds in doing this, it succeeds 
as a city. As far as it fails in doing this, it fails 
as a city. If the families of a city are cramped 
and crowded, if each lives in a house it does 
not own, and dreads rent day ; if it sees the sky 
only through a window-pane, and has neither 
roof nor yard it calls its own ; if it has to share 
its staircase and its doorway with other fami- 
lies — and the staircase was never built which 
is broad enough for two families ; if the street 




OLD SWEDliU 



there whose glory is as of the sun ; it maj- line 
its ways with palaces, and draw to it all the 
world's wealth and wonder ; but, for all this, fail- 
ure is its portion. Families are not comforta- 
ble within its walls. Children are not at sweet 
ease in its ways. It has failed. Its day will 
come, as it came to Paris in 1871. The grim 
and iron girdle of w-ar will surely bind its beauty, 
and for soft splendors there shall be desolation. 
All its garish glory shall be smoke, and gar- 
ments rolled in blood shall be spread in all its 
streets. Famine shall devour its people, and 
fire its beautiful places. 

I propose to tell you of a city which for two 
hundred years has grown so as to make fami- 
lies more and more comfortable ; so as to set 
each in its own house; so as to make life easier 



,26 



PHILADELPHIA A CITY OF HOMES. 



[Mar. 



H "■"■"" 




)l' PENNSYLVANIA. 



and easier for the average ordinary 
which is neither rich nor poor, which w 
way by work, owns the roof over its 
and stands secure in modest 
unquestioned independence. 
Philadelphia is a dingy city by 
the side of Paris; it is out- 
done by most of the world's 
centers in all by which the world 
reckons greatness; but no city 
that is, or ever was, has done 
more to make families, and 
therefore children, comfortable. 
If all Paris were to file past you, 
every fifth person would be a 
child under fifteen years of age. 
If all Philadelphia were to do 
the same, there would be three 
such children for every ten 
persons. File for file, there 
would be one half more chil- 



dren in Philadelphia than in Paris; more, file 
for file, than in New York or London ; more 
than in any of the world's old great cities : — 
more, because Philadelphia makes life more 
comfortable for families and for children. 

This is not an accident. Nothing is an ac- 
cident in the characters of cities or of persons. 
If you were late to school this morning and 
do not stop being late, iW7i'^ you will be late 
to everything all your life ; even in getting an 
article ready for St, Nicholas, though this 
seems as impossible to you now as it Avould have 
done to me when I read St. Nicholas, and 
wondered if I should ever write for it. 

Philadelphia came late among American 
cities. It was founded 58 years after New 
York, 50 years after Boston. The voyage had 
few risks, and no sufifering. William Penn, in 
1 68 1, came on no exploring expedition. For 
almost the first time in history, a new city was 
to be laid out by amicable purchase, and not 
by conquest. We are used to this now. It was 
an altogether new thing two hundred years ago. 
The day for Indian fighting along the coast was 
practically over. The sea-coast was known. 
There were no discoveries to be made. The 
land was secure. England held it without 
a rival. The little Dutch and Swedish set- 
tlements on Delaware Bay, and Philadelphia's 
family future site, were glad to come under the Eng- 
ins its lish flag. Almost the only trace left of either 
head, is the Swedes' church, the oldest in the city. 




I'F.NN's IIOISF. IN I.F.TITIA COIKT. (FROM AN OI.U I'KINT.) 



1893-1 



rillLADKI.I'lllA 



A CITY OF HOMES. 



327 



for all the world like those you may see on 
Swedish tiords to-ilay. 

I'enii sat in London over maps and plans, 
and laid out his new tit)- on paper just as 
"boom" towns are laid out to-day in the West 
and South. He knew the ground. He uniler- 
stood its advantages. No seaboard river car- 
ried navigation so for in- 
land. The Southern rivers 
were shallower. The Hutl- 
son ended in impenetrable 
forest. On the Delaware 
vessels stopi)ed between 
the fottest fields along the 
whole coast. The very soil 
of the narrow peninsula be- 
tween tlie Delaware and 
the Schuylkill is the only 
fertile city-site on our coast. 
It lies far enough south 
to gain the teeming life 
of fin and feather that fills 
the coasts and waters of 
the south Atlantic. You 
can still stand on the steps 
of Independence Hall on a 
still October day, and hear 
the crack of fowling-pieces 
among the reed-birds on 
the river. 

Within the memory of 
men not old the chief meat- 
supply of the city was fat- 
tened on the flat rich farms 
which make up the "■ neck " 
where the Delaware and 
the Schuylkill meet. The 
land around Philadelphia 
is to-day a vast kitchen-garden. It always has 
raised more food than any area as large around 
any other of our great or growing cities. 
Lastly, just beyond these two rich river-valleys 
lie the first Western wheat-fields, in the fertile 
stretch of Delaware, Chester, Montgomery, and 
Lancaster counties. 

The farms of these counties fed the army of 
Washington. His baker-general was a Penn- 
sylvania German, Christopher Ludwig, who after 
a youth spent in fighting the Turk on the Dan- 
ube, sold gingerbread to the boys of the Revo- 



lution, in Letitia street. Beginning by baking 
bread at Valley Forge, he ended by baking 
six thousanil pound-loaves for the surrendered 
army of Cornwallis at Yorktown. Uncle Sam's 
wheat- farm, which has cheapened the world's 
bread, began at the doors of Philadelphia. 
It was the first city to get rich selling wheat. 




PORTRAIl' OF WILLIAM I'ENN IN HIS TWENTY-SECOND YEAR. 

Pennsylvania farms gave it the first big rich 
thickly settled " back-country," on whose trade 
an American city grew great. Under the first 
President Adams, Lancaster, Pa., was the big- 
gest American city back of the sea-coast. In 
1890 instead of the first it was the sixty-first 
of such cities in population. 

All this meant foreign trade and swift growth 
for Philadelphia. In its first forty years it grew 
faster than any other American city in its first 
hundred. It was the Chicago of the last cen- 
tury. In twenty years 2500 houses went up. 



3^^ 



PHILADELPHIA A CITV OF HOMES. 



IMak. 




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 



The like was never seen before. It has often 
hajipened since. Money was made easily. A 
bright boy of seventeen like Benjamin Frank- 
lin could walk up Market street in 1723 with 
two loaves of bread under his arm, and brains 
in his head, and in fifteen years become rich. 
Five years later he had retired from business, 
and had begun flying the kite, the spark from 
whose string told the world that electricity 
and lightning were one. In a town given to 
money-making, he stopped money-making at 
forty years of age and did something better — 
he served his fellow-men : He made scientific 
discoveries ; he invented a new stove ; he got 
together the first American scientific society ; 



he started a fire-company ; he organized the 
Pliiladelphia police; he founded a library; he 
helped start a university ; he turned men's 
thoughts to books, study, and knowledge. 
When the Revolution came he was old and 
rich. He put all at stake in his country's ser- 
vice. He was the only American who signed 
the Declaration of Independence, the Treaty 
of Peace, and the Constitution. He gave Phila- 
delphia the one other thing which makes cities 
great: in him a great man had walked her streets. 
Franklin's fortune was not the only one made 
in Philatlelphia, a hundred and thirty years ago, 
in a trade as large as that of any two other 
American cities. Fifty years after Philadelphia 



1893. 



I'llll.ADKLlMIlA 



A CUV OF HOMES. 



( lica[), l)lack stones, unless people first know 
how to make things. Philadelphia, first of 
American cities, received people skilled in all 
the crafts of central Europe, which two centu- 
ries ago was ahead of England in making 
things. It is not now. If you will open )our 
Physical Geography at the map of Europe, you 
will see a deep groove right down the Rhine to 



'V 



v\^ 



PRINTING PRESS. 

COMPOSING STONE. 

ELECTRICAI. MACHINE. 

FIRE BUCKETS. 

DRESS SWORD. 

BUST, BY HOUOON. 

COPY OF HEADING OF THE FIRST 
NUMBER OF THE PENNSYL- 
VANIA GAZETTE PUBLISHED 
BY FR 

SUGGESTION OF THE OLD PHILA- 
DELPHIA LIBRARY IN THE 
BACKGROUND. 



^entiWWan^* 



ga 



^l-TTK. 






X. i;-?;-' 



^i:;w.«%!ii''i^^'i' 



M/itf Stir, * »" , , J 



I 



■# 



was founded, it built tlie largest publii- build- 
ing any .\merican i ity had ever erected, the 
State House, nt)w Intlependence Hall, — as it 
has to-day, in its t ity hall, the most costly. The 
Declaration of Independence was issued from 
the Pennsylvania State House because it was 
natural for the Continental Congress to meet in 
the largest, the wealthiest, and the most thriving 
of American cities, 
and to sit in the 
most imposing 
building in the 
thirteen colonies. 
It was not until 
the Erie Canal 
gave New York 
the trade of the 
West be\ond the 
Alleghanies, that 
it became a larger 
city than Phila- 
delphia. 

Philadelphia in 
the last century 
was a big place 
for trade. In this 
hundred years, it 
has been a big 
place for making 
things. It has the 
biggest carpet- 
mills in the world. 
Its locomotive 
works, turning out 
two engines a day, 
are the biggest 
anywhere. But 
big works, al- 
though everybody 
talks about them, 
do not do as much 
for a city as a great 
many small ones. 
In no other city 
can a man find 
work of so many 

kinds near his house as in Philadelphia. Lake Constance, and then by the Rhone to the 
This is because — there is always a "because" Mediterranean, while another groove runs east 
in cities — coal is near, and comes down the by the Danube. This groove, in the Middle 
Schuylkill cheaply. But cheaj) coal is mere Ages, when the pirate Norsemen closed the seas 




-MEMORIALS OF FKANKLIN. 



jo 



o 



PHILADELPHIA 



•A CrrV OK HOMES. 



(Mar 



to peaceful folk, was the great highway of Eu- 
rope. In it spransx up earliest cathedrals, uni- 




FRANKLIN S BIRTHPLACE, ON MILK STREET, BOSTON. 

versities, and factories. Right from the center 
of this industrial channel, there came to Phila- 
delphia a German immigration, skilled in weav- 
ing, in iron, and in all the industries of two 
hundred years ago. 

The English immigration, also, while it was 
led by Quakers, — good business-men all, people 
who paid their debts, told no trade lies, and 
had one price for all, — was made up of men 
and women from the cities of southern Eng- 
land. At that time, pretty nearly all the cities 
and most of the manufactures of England were 
in its southern half. They are not now. While 
New England and the South drew their immi- 
gration from country England, the incomers to 
Philadelphia and Pennsylvania were from the 
cities, the stores, and the shops of south Eng- 
land. When you look on the map of Philadel- 
phia to-day, you see London names — Rich- 
mond, Kensington, and Southwark; and the 
largest places near are Bristol and Chester, 
named after the busiest ports of England in 
the seventeenth century. 

Cheap food and industry will not make the 
families in a city comfortable unless a city has 
room to grow, is well planned, and wisely 



governs itself. Philadelphia is fortunate in all 
three respect.s. The site is flat. All directions 
are open to growth. It is not cramped by river 
and bay, as are Boston and San Francisco. It 
is not on an island, as is New York. Swamps 
do not hedge it in as they pen Chicago. Build- 
ing land, city lots, have always cost less and 
been more nearly of about the same price in its 
different quarters, than in any other city of a 
million i)eople ever seen. The growth of the 
city has never been crowded. It has spread out 
in two- or three-story fashion over an occupied 
area which comes close to that of London itself. 
English towns, laid out on the lines of old Ro- 
man camps, with a Broad and a High street cross- 
ing each other at right angles, and lesser streets 
crossing each other checkerboard fashion, gave 
Penn the thought of his plan for Philadelphia. 

W'hen you have your big town, some one 
must own the land and the houses. If a few 
own them, the many will not like it. They ought 
not to like it. In a city where everything is 
right, every family will own something. That 
city is most near to the right thing where the 
most i)eople own something. This will not 
come about unless the laws are riafht. The 







v'-^ij^f^ 



franklin's grave, fifth and arch streets, thiladelphia. 

laws are not good unless bread is chea]), unless 
men have skill in their work, and are of sav- 
ing habits, and unless land is cheap, the city 



»89J.] 









^^X 



PIIILADELlMllA A CITY OK HOMES. 



33^ 




i 



-^^^^^ 



M^' «£*^ -LL"^... -Err— — '»^.^^'?1«[ 






^4*y- 



->?'-'_■ 



INDEPENDENCE HALL, AT THE TIME OF THE SIGNING OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE. 

plan good, and wrong-doers are locked up at ing a row because some one else is richer than 

once. But all these things will not bring about he is. 

the right city, in which most people own some- This row is what older people call the '• social 

thing, unless the laws make it easy for a man question." Now, a man whq owns the house 

who works with his hands to buy the house he he lives in does not want to make a row. He 

lives in. If a man owns that, he will care more is too busy taking care of his house. You 

about looking after his home than about mak- cannot make a rioter out of that man. He 




"the signing of the DECLARATIi'N ol INDErKNDI-.NCK. " (l ROM JOHN TKI'MBILL's PAINTING.) 



rHILADKLPHIA 



■A CITY OF HOMES. 



(Mar. 



is a " capitalist." He will never be a tur- 
bulent striker. He is, in the best sense of the 
word, independent. Riches are worth what 
they give. The best things they can give are 
comfort and security. The man who owns the 
house he lives in has these. In Philadelphia 
any industrious, saving man can own his home 
before he dies ; and more such men own houses 
than do not. Philadelphia is the only city in 
the world in which this is true. This is the 



biggest and best thing which can be said of 
any city. 

The law in Philadelphia has made this easy, 
in the first place, by separating the owning of 
the ground on which a house is built and the 
owning of the house which stands on the ground. 
This is done by what are called fixed " ground- 
rents." A ground-rent is paid for the use of the 
ground independent of the house which stands 
on it. In Philadelphia, a ground-rent once 




CHRIST CHURCH, 1 II 



WASHINGTON WENT TO CHURCH. 



x893.] 



PHILADi:i.lMl[A A CITY OK HOMES. 



\33 



fixed by the mim who first sells use of the land to use it after it is saved. This is done in 

cannot be changed, and lasts forever. A ground- Philadelphia by savings-banks, which depositors 

rent does not grow if the ground gets to be themselves manage, in order to get together the 

worth more: it stavs the same. If the ground money for each to pay for a house. When you 



P^lf 




THE NEW CITY HALL, PHILADKLI'HLV. 



and house get to be worth more, the man who 
owns the ground-rent does not benefit by this, 
but the man who owns the house. Practically, 
when a house is bought under this plan, only 
the house is bought — the land is paid for by a 
fixed yearly sum which cannot be added to. 

The law did this. This is one step. The 
next must be a desire to save money, and ability 



and ten thousand other persons put your pen- 
nies in a savings-bank, they make man)- dollars. 
These dollars are taken by those in charge of 
the savings-bank and lent to men who pay 
interest. This interest is finally paid to you, 
less the cost of taking care of the money. 

But you can see how, if a hundred of you got 
together and paid your pennies in, you might 



rnn.ADKi.riiiA — a citv of homes 




<&y>'^Ti ~[c) uild i n ,/ 



'"''^'^^&^ 




Oh' STEI'HKN (;lRARO IN I HC VESTIIIULU 
OP THE MAIN nUII.niNti. 



MAIN BUILDING, GIKAKD COLLEGE. 

make your own savings-bank by letting one of 
your own number have the money at interest. 
Suppose he bouglit chickens with it, when he 
had made enough from tlie chickens to do so, 
he would pay the money back. Then another 
boy would get the loan and buy a printing- 
press. When he had made enough to pay that 
back, another boy would have his chance. When 
this is done by men and women to buy houses, 
their club is called a " Building Association." 
There are in Philadelphia about 500 of these 
associations, and 500 more in the State of Penn- 
sylvania. The entire looo, in 1889, were pay- 
ing out $33,000,000 to be used in buying 
houses; and of this about $22,000,000 was 
being paid out in Philadelphia. From 1849 to 
1876, these associations bought 30,000 houses, 
at a cost of $72,000,000. Since then the 
associations liave lent money to about 50.000 
persons who were buying houses. In the last 
sixty years, about 80,000 houses have been 
bought in this way. The average price of a 
house began at about $1000; it rose to $2000; 
and now most of the houses bought by 
men who work cost from $2500 to $3500. 
What kind of houses are they ? There is a 



iSovl 



riiii..\i>Ki.riiiA- 



sample one whiih has l)CL-n pul up at ilic Co- 
lumbian Exposition in Chicago. \\ lun you go 
there, you must look al it. There is nothing 
more wonderful in all that marvelous I'>\posi- 
tion than this proof that the laws, the habits, 
and the business of a city of one million people 
can be so arranged that even the day-laborer 
earning onlv $8 or $io a week can own the 
roof over his head and call no man landlortl. 
The result of all this is that Philadeliihia is 
not a city of palaces for the few, but a city of 
homes for the many — which is better. It is 
not magnificent, but it is comfortable. In 1890 
its 1,046,964 inhabitants were living in 187,052 



A riTV (>l-- IIOMKS. 335 

they live in. It is the privilege of the prosper- 
ous. The number of families owning the house 
in which they live is from four to si.\ times 
greater in Philadelphia than in any other great 
city of the world. Vou cannot know, until years 
and life have taught you more than any boy 
or girl should know of this hard and bitter 
world, how much of comfort, i^eace, and haj)- 
piness is summed u\> in that statement. It 
means room and air and health. It means that 
each family can have its own bath-tub, its own 
yard, its own staircase, and its own door-step. 
These are simple daily blessings for most of 
us ; but for tens and hundreds of thousands in 




PHILADELPHIA WORKING-MEN S HOUSES. 



dwellings. This means that with only two- 
thirds as many people, it had twice as many 
houses as New York. With just as many peo- 
ple as Chicago, it had one half more houses. 
Of the 200,000 families in Philadelphia, seven 
out of eight had separate houses, and three- 
quarters of its families, or 150,000, owned the 
houses they lived in. In New York only one 
family in six Hves in a separate house, and of 
these not one family in six owns the house it 
lives in. In Chicago less than half the families 
are in separate houses. In general, in big cities 
much less than half the families live in separate 
houses, and less than a quarter own the houses 



all large cities they are absent. They are not 
enjoyed by half the people who live in the 
world's great cities. 

As for owning a home, this is a blessing un- 
dreamed of probably by eight families out of ten 
elsewhere. To have given this blessing to eight 
citizens out of ten, is to work one of the world's 
great industrial miracles. 

Home-owning for the wage-earner, comfort 
for the family, and room for the children are 
not all that a city ought to provide, but they 
are its first and most important duty. A city 
will not be all it should be even after they are 
got, as they are in Philadelphia. Street after 



1 '>f\ 



PHILADELPHIA- 



A CITY OF HOMES. 



Street of small two-story brick houses looks nation was bom in a day, and the freedom of 
rather mean and dingy. If the great mass of man crowned with everlasting honor. But tlie 
voters are men owning small houses and living 
in a small way, then all the work of the city will 
be done in a small way, too. Pavements will 
be cobblestones, rough and dirty; the drinking- 
water will be plentiful, but indifferent. The 
schools will be numerous enough, but the pay 
of the teachers will be low. But it is better to 
spread a carpet on the ])Oor man's floor than to 
spread an asphalt pavement under the car- 
riage-wheels of the rich. It is better to have 




y ■ncv»»v.r.r...uw 



CHEAP HOMES IN PHILADELPHIA. 



TENEMENT HOISES, THE CHEAP HOMES 
OF NEW YORK. 



independence which has been 
secured for the man who works 
and for his family, is a not less 
wonderful triumph of the rights 
of man. It is a crowning vic- 
tory for the comfort of children. 
When one is asked, as I was 
asked in writing this article, to 
tell the children of St. Nicho- 
las where Philadelphia could 



bath-rooms by the ten thousand in small homes, be justly praised among the world's cities, he 
than to have brilliant fountains playing in beauti- can but ])oint to the little home set among the 



ful squares. If one must choose 
between schools which are all they 
should be, and separate dwelling 
for the children of each family, bet- 
ter the separate home every time. 
The Declaration of Independence 
has unspeakably dignified Phila- 
delphia in all hi.story. Here a 







splendors of the Exposition and 
say 150,000 of these, owned by 
the families which live in them, 
are such a triumph of right living 
in a great city as the world never 
saw before, and can see nowhere 
else but in Philadelphia, a city 
of homes. 



' 150,000 OK THESE. 



ANOTHER HISTORY.* 



Bv Arlo Bates. 



"Welcomk, old friend, Lysander Pratt!" 
" Welcome, my dear Philander Sprat." 
"What have you all these years been at?" 

" 1 traveled to the wondrous East, 
Its greatest marvels saw, and least." 

" Oh, how extremely good was that ! " 
" Not wholly good, Philander Sprat." 
" Now, wherefore not, Lysander Pratt ? " 

" Upon a raging Eastern sea, 
The ship was wrecked that carried me." 

" Alas I How terrible was that ! " 

'' Not wholly so, Philander Sprat." 

" Now, tell me why, Lysander Pratt." 

" A swelling wave my body bore, 
And cast unharmed upon the shore." 

'• What luck ! Now surely good was that ! " 
" Not wholly good, Philander Sprat." 
" Why not ? Why not, Lysander Pratt ? " 

" Men were less kind than the cold wave ; 
They sold me then to be a slave." 

" Ah, what a cruel thing was that ? " 
" Yet not all bad, Philander Sj^rat." 
"What good was there, Lysander Pratt?" 

" I sang, and pleased the Sultan so. 
That gifts and gold he did bestow." 

" Good quite unmixed, I 'm sure, was that. 
" Not good unmixed, Philander Sprat." 
" What bad was there, Lysander Pratt ? " 

" So jealous were his favorites then, 
They threw me in a lion's den." 

" Oh, horrible indeed was that ! " 
" Yet not all bad. Philander Sprat." 
" Say quickly why, Lysander Pratt." 

* See " Quite a History," in 
Vol. XX. — 22. 



" 1 found, dropped down into that lair, 
*' The Sultan's long-lost signet there." 

"Well, joyful chance most sure was that!" 
" Yet not all good. Philander Sprat." 
" Why not all good, Lysander Pratt ? " 

" So doting did the Sultan grow, 
That home he would not let me go." 

" Doleful most certainly was that." 
" Yet not so bad. Philander Sprat." 
" Tell me why not, Lysander Pratt." 

" At last, so gracious had he grown. 
He made me heir to crown and throne." 

" In truth most wonderful was that ! " 
" But not all good, Philander Sprat." 
" I see not why, Lysander Pratt." 

" His sons both day and night sought still 
How^ they my guiltless blood might spill.' 

" Alas, what woe, w^hat pain was that ! " 
" Yet not all woe. Philander Sprat." 
" Not all ? Why not, Lysander Pratt ? " 

" 'T was by their aid at last I fled. 
And safely backward home was sped," 

" Now^ surely wholly good was that ! 
On your feet fall you like a cat 
Whatever haps, Lysander Pratt." 

" Yes, safe through all 1 came at last, 
And smiled to think of dangers past. 

" Yet, I, who on high thrones have sat. 
Came home as poor as toothless rat. 
That was not good, Philander Sprat." 
St. Nicholas for February, 1880. 

337 



THE GARRET AT (iRANDFATHER'S. 



By Mary Hali.ock Foote. 



Thl rooms at grandfather's house had been 
used so long, they were almost human them- 
selves. Each room had a look of its own, 
when you opened the door, as expressive as a 
speaking countenance. 

" Come in, children dear ! " the sunny sitting- 
room always seemed to say. 

" Sit still and don't talk too much, and don't 
handle the things on the tables," said the large, 
gleaming, dim-lighted parlors. 

" Dear me, what weather this is ! " grumbled 
the poky back-entry where the overshoes and 
water-proofs and wood-boxes were kept. 

"There 's a piece — of cake — in the cupboard 
for you," quietly ticked the dining-room clock, 
its large face looking at no one in particular. 

But of all the rooms in that house, up stairs 
or down, not one had the strangeness, the 
mysterious nod and beck and whisper, of the 
murky old garret. 

" Hark, what was that ? " it would seem to 
creak ; and then there was silence. " Hush! 1 11 
tell you a story," it sometimes answered. 

Some of its stories were true, but I should 
not like to vouch for all of them. 

What a number of queer things it kept 
hidden away under the eaves that spread wide 
a broad-winged cloak of shadows ! What a 
strange eye it had ; its one half-moon window 
peering at you from the high, peaked forehead 
of the gable. 

The garret door was at the far end of the 
long upper hall ; from it the stairs (and how 
they did creak!) led up direcdy out of the 
cheerful daylight into that uncarpeted wilder- 
ness where it was always twilight. 

It was the younger children's business to trot 
on errands, and they were not consulted as to 
when or where they should go. Grown people 
seem to forget how early it gets dark up-garret 
in winter, and how far away the house-noises 
sound with all the doors shut between. 

When the children were sent up-garret for 



nuts, — for Sunday dessert with mince-pie and 
apples, or to pass around with cider in the 
evening, — they were careful to leave the stair 
door open behind them ; but there was little 
comfort in that, for all the people were two 
flights down and busy with their own concerns. 

Down-stairs in the briglit western chambers 
nobody thought of its being late, but up-garret, 
under the eaves, it was already night. Thick 
ice incrusted the half-moon window, curtaining 
its cold ray that sadly touched an object here 
and there, and deepened the neighboring gloom. 

The autumn nut-harvest was spread first 
upon sheets, on the garret floor to dry, and 
then it was garnered in the big, green bath-tub 
which had stood, since the children could re- 
member, over against the chimney, to the right 
of the gable window. This tub was for size 
and weight the father of all bath-tubs. It 
was used for almost anything but the purpose 
for which it was intended. 

In summer, when it was empty, the children 
played "shipwreck" in it; it was their life-boat, 
and they were cast away on the high seas. 
Some rowed for dear life, with umbrellas and 
walking-sticks, and some made believe to cry 
and call for help, — for that was their idea of the 
behavior of a shipwrecked company ; and some 
tramped on the bulging tin bottom of the tub, 
which yielded and sprang back with a loud 
thump, like the clank of oars. It was very 
exciting. 

In winter it was the granar}'. It held bush- 
els and bushels of nuts, and its smooth, out- 
sloping sides defeated the clever little mice, 
who were always raiding and rummaging 
among the garret stores. 

Well, it seemed a long distance, to the timid 
litde errand-girl, from the stairs, across the 
garret floor, to that bath-tub. " Noiseless as 
fear in a wide wilderness," she stepped. Then, 
what a shock it was, when the first loud hand- 
fuls of nuts bumped upon the bottom of the 



338 



THE GARRET AT f.RANDEATlIER S. 



339 



pail ! 'llie nuts were pointed, antl cuUl as lumps 
of ice ; they hurt the small hands that shoveled 
them up in haste, anil a great many handfuls it 
took to fill the pail. 

Hanging from the beams that divided the 
• main garret from the eaves, dangleil a perfectly 
useless row of old garments that seemed to be 
there for no purpose but to look dreadful. How 
they might have looked in a ditt'erent light can- 
not be said ; there seemed to be nothing wrong 
with them when the women took them down at 
house-cleaning time and shook and beat them 
about ; they were as emjjty as sacks, every one. 
But in that dim, furtive light, seen by over- 
shoulder glimpses they looked like dismal male- 
factors suftering the penalty of their crimes. 
Some were hooded and seemed to hang their 
heads upon their sunken breasts; all were high- 
shouldered wretches with dangling arms and 
a shapeless, dreary suggestiveness worse than 
human. The most objectionable one of the lot 
was a long, dark weather-cloak, worn " about 
the twenties," as old people say. It was of the 
fashion of that " long red cloak, well-brushed 
and neat," which we read of in John Gilpin's 
famous ride. 

But the great-grandfather's cloak w-as of a 
dark green color, and not well brushed. It had 
a high, majestic velvet collar, hooked with a 
heavy steel clasp and chain; but for all its 
respectable and kindly associations, it looked, 
hanging from the garret rafters, just as much a 
gallows-bird as any of its ruffian company. 

The children could not forgive their great- 
grandfather for having had such a sinister-look- 
ing garment, or for leaving it behind him to 
hang in the grim old garret and frighten them. 
Solemn as the garret looked, no doubt this 
was one of its jokes : to dress itself up in 
shadows and pretend things to tease the chil- 
dren; as we have known some real people to 
do. It certainly was not fair, when they were 
up there all alone. 

The scuttle in the roof was shut, in winter, to 
keep out the snow. A long ladder led up to it 
from the middle garret, and close to this ladder 
stood another uncanny-looking object — the 
bath-closet. 

The family had always been inveterate bath- 
ers, but surely this shower-bath must have 



capped the climax of its cold-water e.xperi- 
ments. 

It was contrived so that a pail of water, car- 
ried up by the scuttle-ladder and emptied into 
a tilting vessel on top of the closet, could be 
matle to descend on a sudden in a deluge of 
large drops upon the head of the person inside. 
There was no escape for that person; the 
closet gave him but just room to stand up 
under the infliction, and once the pail was tilted, 
the water was bound to come. 

The children thought of this machine with 
shivering and dread. They had heard it said — 
perhaps in the kitchen — that their little grand- 
mother had "nearly killed herself" in that 
shower-bath, till the doctor forbade her to use 
it any more. 

Its walls were screens of white cotton-cloth, 
showing a mysterious opaque glimmer against 
the light, also the shadowy outlines of some ob- 
jects within, which the children could not ac- 
count for. The narrow screen door was always 
shut, and no child ever dreamed of opening it 
or of meddling with the secrets of that pale 
closet. It was enough to have to pass it on 
their lonesome errands, looming like a "sheeted 
ghost " in the garret's perpetual twilight. 

The garret, like some of the great foreign 
churches, had a climate of its own; still and 
dry, but subject to extremes of heat and cold, 
in summer it was the tropics, in winter the 
frozen pole. 

But it had its milder moods also, — when it 
was neither hot nor cold, nor light nor dark ; 
when it beamed in mellow half-tones upon its 
youthful visitors, left oft" its ugly frightening 
tricks, told them " once upon a time " stories, 
and even showed them all its old family keep- 
sakes. 

These pleasant times occurred about twice 
every year, at the spring and fall house-clean- 
ing, when the women, with brooms and dust- 
pans, invaded the garret and made a cheerful 
bustle in that deserted place. 

The scuttle-hole in the roof was then open, 
to give light to the cleaners, and a far, bright 
square of light shone down. It was as if the 
garret smiled. 

All the queer old things, stowed away under 
the eaves, behind boxes and broken furniture 



140 



THE GARRET AT GRANDFATHERS. 



[Mar. 



and stoves and rolls of carpet, were dragged 
forth ; and the}- were as good as new discover- 
ies to the children, who had not seen them nor 
heard their stories since last house-cleaning 
time. 

There was the brass warming-pan, with its 
shining lid, full of holes like a pepper-box. On 
this warming-pan, as a sort of sled, the chil- 
dren used to ride by tums — one child seated 
on, or in, the pan, two others dragging it 
over the floor by the long, dark wood handle. 

And there were the pattens 
•• which step-great-grandmother 
Sheppard brought over from 
England " ; one pair with leather 
straps and one with strajjs of 
cotton velvet, edged with a 
tarnished gilt embroidery. The 
straps were meant to lace over 
a full-grown woman's instep, but 
the children managed somehow 
to keep them on their feet, and 
they clattered about, on steel- 
shod soles, with a racket equal 
to the midnight clatter of Santa 
Claus's team of reindeer. 

There was a huge muff of dark 
fur, kept in a tall blue paper 
bandbox ; the children could 
bury their arms in it up to the 
shoulder. It had been carried 
by some lady in the time of 
short waists and scant skirts and 
high coat-collars ; when girls 
covered their bare arms with 
long kid gloves and tucked their 
little slippered toes into fur-lined 
foot-muffs and went on moon- 
light sleighing parties, dressed as girls dress 
nowadays for a dance. 

One of these very same foot-muffs (the moths 
had once got into it) led a sort of at-arm's- 
length existence in the garret, neither ijuite 
condemned nor yet allowed to mingle with un- 
impeachable articles of clothing. And there was 
a " foot-stove " used in old times on long drives 
in winter or in the cold country meeting-houses. 
They were indefatigable visitors and meeting- 
goers, — those old-time Friends. Weather and 
distance were nothing thought of; and in the 



most troublous times they could go to and fro 
in their peaceful character, unmolested and un- 
suspected — though no doubt they had their 
sympathies as strong as other people's. 

A china bowl is still shown, in one branch of 
grandfather's family, which one of the great- • 
aunts, then a young woman, carried on her 
saddle-bow, through both the British and Con- 
tinental lines, from her old home on Long 
Island to her husband's house on the west 
bank of the Hudson above West Point. 




■^^^i;^/ 



" GRANDFATHER.' 



No traveling member of the society ever 
thought of "putting-up" for the night anywhere 
but at a Friend's house. Journeys were planned 
in stages from such a Friend's house to such an- 
other one's, or from meeting to meeting. In 
days when letter-i)ostage was dear and news- 
papers were almost unknown, such visits were 
keenly welcome, and were a chief means by 
which isolated country families kept up their 
communication with the world. 

There were many old-fa.shioned household 
utensils in the garret, the use of which had to 



»893 



THE GARRET AT GRANDFATHERS. 



341 



be explained to tlic cliiUlicn ; ami all this was 
as gooil as history, and more easily remembered 
than mueh that is written in books. 

There was one of the old " Dutch ovens" 
that had stood in front of the roaring hearth- 
fires in days when Christmas dinners were 
cooked without the aid of stoves or ranges. 
And there were the iron fire-dogs, the pot- 
hooks, and the crane w iiic h were part of the 
fireplace furniture. And the big wool-wheel 
for the spinning of yarn, the smaller and lady- 
like flax-wheel, and the tin candle-molds for 
the making of tallow candles ; and a pleasure 
it must have been to see the candles " drawn," 
when the pure-white tallow had set in the slen- 
der tubes and taken the shape of them per- 
fectly, so that each candle, when drawn out by 
the wick, was as cold and hard and smooth as 
alabaster. And there was the "baby-jumper" 
and the wicker '• run-around," to show that 
babies had always been babies — just the same 
restless little pets then as now — and that 
mother's and nurse's arms were as ai)t to get 
tired. 

The garret had kept a faithful family record, 
and hence it told of sickness and suffering as 
well as of pleasure and business and life and 
feasting. 

A little old crutch, padded by some woman's 
hand with an attempt to make it handsome as 
well as comfortable, stood against the chim- 
ney on the dark side next the eaves. It was 
short enough for a child of twelve to lean upon, 
and it had seen considerable use, for the brown 
velvet pad was worn quite thin and gray. Had 
the little cripple ever walked again ? With 
what feelings did the mother put that crutch 
away up-garret when it was needed no more ? 
The garret did not say how that story of pain 
had ended; or whether it was long or short. 
The children never sought to know. It was 
one of the questions which they did not ask : 
they knew very little about pain themselves, 
and perhaps they did not fully enter into the 
meaning of that sad little relic. 

Still less did they understand the reverence 
with which the house-cleaning women handled 
a certain bare wooden frame neither handsome 
nor comfortable-looking. It had been made to 
support an invalid in a sitting posture in bed ; 



and the invalid for whom it was provided, in 
her last da\s, had suffered much from difficulty 
of breathing, and had passed many weary 
hours, sometimes whole nights, supported by 
this frame. It had for those who knew its 
use the sacredness of association with that long 
ordeal of pain, endured with perfect patience 
and watched over with constant love. 

But these were memories which the little 
children could not share. When their prattling 
questions touched upon the sore places, the 
wounds in the family past, they were not an- 
swered, or were put aside till some more fitting 
occasion, or till they were old enough to listen 
with their hearts. 

Under the eaves there was an old green chest 
whose contents, year after year, the children 
searched through, in the never-failing hope that 
they should find something which had not been 
there the year before. There were old account- 
books with their stories of loss and gain, which 
the children could not read. There were bun- 
dles of old letters which they were not allowed 
to examine. There were " ink-portraits," fiimily 
profiles in silhouette, which they thought very 
funny, especially in the matter of coat-collars 
and " back-hair." There were school-girl prizes 
of fifty years ago: the school-girls had grown 
into grandmamas — and some were dead. 
There was old-fashioned art-work : paintings 
on velvet or satin ; boxes covered with shells ; 
needle-books and samplers showing the most 
exemplary stitches, in colors faded by time. 
There were handsomely bound volumes of 
'• Extracts," containing poems and long pas- 
sages of elegant prose copied in pale brown ink, 
in the proper penmanship of the time. And 
there was a roll of steel-plate engravings which 
had missed the honor of frames ; and of these 
the children's favorite picture was one called 
"The Wife." 

It is some time since I have seen that pic- 
ture; I may be wrong about some of the de- 
tails. But as I remember her, the wife was a 
long-necked lady with very large eyes, dressed 
in white, with large full sleeves and curls falling 
against her cheek. She held a feather hand- 
screen, and she was doing nothing but look 
beautiful and sweetly attentive to her husband, 
who was seated on the other side of the table 



;42 



THE GARRET AT GRANDFATHERS. 



IMak. 



and was reading aloud to her by the light of an 
old-fashioned astral lamp. 

This, of course, was the ideal wife, the little 
girls thought. Every other form of wifehood 
known to them was more or less made up of 
sewing, and housework, and every-day clothes. 
Even in the family past, it had the taint of 
the Dutch oven, and the spinning-wheel, and 
the candle-molds upon it. They looked at their 
finger-tips; no, it was not likely they would 
ever grow to be long and pointed like hers. 
The wife no one of them should ever be — only 
a wife perhaps, with the usual sewing-work, and 
not enough white dresses to afford to wear one 
every evening. 

It took one day to clean the garret, and an- 
other to put things away ; winter clothing had 
to be brushed and packed in the chests where 
it was kept; the clothes-closet had to be 
cleaned; then its door was closed and locked. 
The last of the brooms and dust-pans beat a 
retreat, the stair door was shut, and the dust 
and the mystery began to gather as before. 

But summer, though no foe to dust, w^as a 
great scatterer of the garret mysteries. Gay, 
lightsome summer peeped in at the half-moon 
window and smiled down from the scuttle in 
the roof. Warm weather had come, the sash 
that fitted the gable window was taken out 
permanently. Outdoor sounds and perfumes 
floated up. Athwart the sleeping sunbeams 
golden dust-motes quivered, and bees from the 
garden sailed in and out on murmuring wing. 

If a thunder-storm came up suddenly, then 
there was a fine race, up two flights of stairs, 
and whoever reached the scuttle-ladder first 
had the first right to climb it, and to pull in the 
shutter that covered the scuttle-hole. There 
was time, perhaps, for one breathless look down 
the long slope of bleached shingles, — at the 
tossing tree-tops, the meadow-grass whipped 
white, the fountain's jet of water bending like a 
flame and falling silent on the grass, the neigh- 
bor's team hurrying homeward, and the dust 
rising along the stee]) u]:)ward grade of the 
village road. 

Then fell the first great (Iroj) — another, and 
another; the shutter hid the storm-bright 
square of sky, and down came the rain — 
trampling on the shingles, drumming in the 



gutters, drowning the laughing voices below ; 
and suddenly the garret grew cool, and its 
mellow glow darkened to brown twilight. 

Under the gable window there stood for 
many years a white pine box, with a front that 
let down on leather hinges. It was very clean 
inside and faintly odorous. The children 
called it the bee-bo.\ ; and they had a story of 
their own to account for the tradition that this 
box had once held rich store of honey in the 
comb. 

A queen bee, they said, soaring above the 
tops of the cherry-trees in swarming-time, had 
drifted in at the garret w'indow with all the 
swarm in tow ; and where her royal caprice 
had led them the faithful workers remained, 
and formed a colony in the bee-box, and, like 
honest tenants, left a quantity of their sweet 
wares behind, to pay for their winter's lodging. 

There may have been some truth in this 
story, but the honey was long since gone, and 
so were the bees. The bee-box, in the chil- 
dren's time, held only files of old magazines 
packed away for binding. Of course they 
never were bound ; and the children who used 
to look at the pictures in them, grew into ab- 
sent-minded girls with half-lengths of hair fall- 
ing into their eyes when they stooped too low 
over their books, as they always would to read. 
The bee-box was crammed till the lid would 
no longer shut. And now the dusty pages be- 
gan to gleam and glow, and voices that all the 
world hstened to spoke to those young hearts 
for the first time in the garret's stillness. 

The rapt young reader, seated on the garret 
floor, never thought of looking for a date, nor 
asked, "Who tells this story?" Those voices 
were as imjjersonal as the winds and the stars 
of the summer night. 

It might have been twenty years, it might 
have been but a year before, that Lieutenant 
Strain led his brave little band into the deadly 
tropic wilderness of Darien. It is doubt- 
ful if those child-readers knew why he was 
sent, by whom, or what to do. The begin- 
ning of the narrative was in a "missing num- 
ber" of the magazine — it mattered not; they 
read from the heart, not from the head. It 
was the toils, the resolves, the sufierings of the 
men they cared about ; their characters and 



i893.] 



THE GARRET AT GRANDFATHERS. 



1 I t 
j4j 




and "The Amber 
Oods," " In a Cel- 
lar," "The South 
Breaker," stormed 
their fresh imagi- 
nations and left 
them feverish!) 
dreaming, and 
there in the gar- 
ret's tropic warmth 
and stillness they 

i "VJI^^ ^^^^ hi^ard the 

I' ^^^K^^fe. ,^ voice of the great 

master who gave 
us Colonel Xew- 
come, and who 
wrought us to such 
\ivid sympathy 
with the fortunes 
of Cliveand Ethel. 
And here the last 
number was miss- 
ing, and for a long 
time the young 
readers went sorrowing for Clive, 
and thinking that he and Ethel 
had been parted for all their lives. 
These garret readings were fre- 
quently a stolen jo)-, but perhaps 
"mother" was in the secret of the 
bee-box and did not search very 
closely or call very loud when a 
girl was missing, about the mid- 
dle of the warm, midsummer after- 
noons. 

About midsummer the sage was 
picked and spread upon news- 
papers upon the garret floor to 
dry. That was a pleasant task. 
IP T„.- ,.„,. Children are sensitive to the 

LP THE LADDER TO THE SCUTTLE ^ 

conduc.unde„™> They ago„.ed with .- Trux- .heir labors. '"TLfe rlfngZ":* t 
but dZ "Z^:"'' '"''' '"' "^P' ^' ^'= ^" "*^'" "P™ *e colo, th'c cr.pf-,ike JJ,* e of 

"Did T do nVhf Q. • ^.. '^^ fragrant sage, bestrewing the browTi garret 

Did I do nght Strain ? A^^, ,,i^l^ i^^ ^^I^^^^^ ^. ^ 

They worshiped, with unciuestioning faith, dry warm air ^ 

tbbottvT. '', ''"'/u'f r ^°^ "' ^'"^"' " ^^P^^"^^^ --d^ should never blow upon 

of «^^ the tragic realism whole year's yeast-making were gathered in the 

NVitching rimes. Maya, the Princess," wane of summer; and here, too, was a task 




;44 



THE GARRET AT GRANDFATHERS. 



which brought its own reward. The hops made 
a carpet for the garret floor, more beautiful, 
even, than the blue-green sage ; and as the har- 
vest was much larger so the fair living carpet 
spread much wider. It was a sight to see, in 
the low light of the half-moon window, all the 
fragile pale green balls, powdered to the heart's 
core with gold-colored pollen — a field of beauty 
spread there for no eye to see. Yet it was not 
wasted. The children diil not speak of what 
they felt, but nothing that was beautiful, or 
mysterious, or stimulating to the fancy in those 
garret days was ever lost. It is often the slight 
impressions that, like the " scent of the roses," 
wear best and most keenly express the past. 
No child ever forgot the physiognomy of 



those rooms at grandfather's: the mid-after- 
noon stillness when the sun shone on the lemon- 
tree, and its flowers shed their perfume on the 
warm air of the sitting-room ; the peculiar 
odor of the withering garden, when October 
days were growing chill ; the soft rustle of the 
wind searching amongst the dead leaves of the 
arbor ; the cider-mill's drone in the hazy dis- 
tance ; the creaking of the loaded wagons, the 
bang of the great barn-doors when the wind 
swung them to. 

No child of all those who have played in 
grandfather's garret ever forgot its stories, its 
solemn, silent make-believes ; the dreams they 
dreamed there when they were girls, or the 
books they read. 



GOOD NIGHT. 



Now you sleep, dear 1 Do you dream ? 

Are you sailing far away ? 
On some fairy shallop bound 

For a land where it is May — 

Where no cloud is dark with rain — 
Whence are banished ice and snow — 

Where the roses have no thorns, 
And the rude winds never blow ? 

Do you hear a music strange, 

Wiling you to that bright shore — 

Home of dreams that dance and sing, 
Free of Earth forevermorc ? 

Do you fancy you would be 
Glad, like them, to idle there ; 

Far away from tasks and rules 

Their light-hearted mirth to share ? 

Nay, 1 think you would come back. 
Longing for the changeful days. 

Wild with wind, or A\hite with snow, 
And the dear, familiar ways. 

For the fairies, fairy-land — 
Idle dreams for elf and sprite: 

But for you — a child of Earth — 
Earth's commingled shade and light. 



Louise Chandler Moulton. 



POLLY OLIVER'S PROBLEM. 



By Kate Douglas Wiggin. 

Author of " The Birds^ Christmas Carol^'' "A Summer in a Canon^^ etf. 



[Begtin in the Sovember Humier.] 

Chapter XII. 

THE GREAT SILENCE. 

The months of April and May were happy 
ones. The weather was perfect, as only Cali- 
fornia weather understands the art of being ; the 
hills were at their greenest ; the wind almost for- 
got to blow ; the fields blazed in wild flowers ; 
day after day rose in cloudless splendor, and 
day after day the Golden Gate shone like a 
sapphire in the sun. 

Polly was inwardly nervous. She had the 
"awe of prosperity " in her heart, and ever)'thing 
seemed too bright to last. 

Both she and Edgar were very busy. But 
work that one loves is no hardship, especially 
when one is strong and young and hopeful, and 
when one has great matters at stake — such as 
the health and wealth of an invalid mother, or 
the paying off of disagreeable debts. 

Even the limp Mrs. Chadwick shared in the 
general joy; for Mr. Greenwood was so utterly 
discouraged with her mismanagement of the 
house, so determined not to fly to ills he knew 
not of, and so anxious to bring order out of 
chaos, that on the spur of the moment one day 
he married her. On the next day he dis- 
charged the cook, hired a better one the third, 
dunned the delinquent boarder the fourth, and 
collected from him on the fifth ; so the May 
check (signed Clementine Chadwick Green- 
wood) was made out for eighty-five dollars. 

But in the midst of it all, when everything in 
the outside world danced with life and vigor, 
and the little hou.se could hardly hold its sweet 
content, — without a glimmer of warning, with- 
out a moment's fear or dread, without the pre- 
cious agony of parting, Mrs. Oliver slipped 
.softly, gently, safely, into the Great Silence. 

Mercifully it was Edgar, not Polly, who found 



her in her accustomed place on the cushions, 
Ipng with closed eyelids and smiling lips. 

It was half-past five. . . . Polly must have 
gone out at four, as usual, and would be back 
in half an hour. . . . Yung Lee was humming 
softly in the little kitchen. ... In five minutes 
Edgar Noble had suftered, lived and grown ten 
years. He was a man. . . . And then came 
Polly, — and Mrs. Bird with her, thank Heaven ! 
Polly breathless and glowing, looking up at the 
bay-window for her mother's smile of welcome. 

In a few seconds the terrible news was bro- 
ken, and Polly, overpowered with its awful sud- 
denness, dropped before it as under a physical 
blow. 

It was better so. Mrs. Bird carried her home 
for the night, as she thought, but a merciful 
blur stole over the child's tired brain, and she 
lay for many wrecks in a wear>' illness of deli- 
rium and stupor and fever. 

Meanwhile, Edgar acted as brother, son, and 
man of the house. He it was who managed 
e\erything, from the first sorrowful days up to 
the closing of the tiny upper flat where so 
much had happened : not great things of vast 
outward importance, but small ones — little 
miseries and mortifications and struggles and 
self-denials and victories, that made the past 
half-year a mile-stone in his life. 

A week finished it all! It takes a very short 
time, he thought, to scatter to the winds of 
heaven all the gracious elements that make a 
home. Only a week; and in the first days of 
June, Edgar went back to Santa Barbara for 
the summer holidays without even a sight of 
his brave, helpful girl-comrade. 

He went back to his brother's congratula- 
tions, his sister's kisses, his mother's happy tears, 
and his father's hearty hand-clasp, full of re- 
newed ])ride and belief in his eldest son. But 
there was a shadow on the lad's high spirits as 



3^6 



rOLLV OLIVERS I'ROHI.EM. 



347 



he thouglu of gay, courageous, daring I'olly, 
stripped in a moment of all that made life dear. 

" I wish we could do something for her, 
poor little soul," he said to his mother in one 
of their long talks in the orange-tree sitting- 
room. " Tongue cannot tell what Mrs. Oliver 
has been to me, and 1 'm not a bit ashamed to 
own up to Tolly's influence, even if she is a girl 
and two or three years younger than I am. 
Hang it ! 1 'd like to see the fellow that could 
live under the same roof as those two women, 
and not do the best that was in him ! Has n't 
Polly some relatives in the East ? " 

" No near ones, and none that she has ever 
.seen. Still, she is not absolutely alone, as many 
girls woulil be under like circumstances. We 
would be only too glad to have her here; the 
Howards have telegraphed asking her to spend 
the winter with them in Cambridge ; I am confi- 
dent Dr. Winship will do the same when the 
news of Mrs. Oliver's death reaches Europe; 
and Mrs. Bird seems to have constituted herself 
a sort of Eairy Godmother in Chief. You see, 
everybody loves Polly ; and she will probably 
have no less than four homes open to her. 
Then, too, she is not penniless. Rents are low, 
and she cannot hope to get quite as much for 
the house as before, but even counting repairs, 
taxes, and furnishings, we think she is reasona- 
bly certain of fifty dollars a month." 

" She will never be idle, unless this sorrow 
makes a great change in her. Polly seems to 
have been created to ' become ' by ' doing.' " 

" Yet she does not in the least relish work, 
Edgar. I never knew a girl with a greater ap- 
petite for luxury. One cannot always see the 
deepest reasons in God's providence as appUed 
to one's own life and character ; but it is often 
easy to understand them as you look at other 
people and note their growth and development. 
Now, Polly's intense love for her invalid mother 
has kept her from being selfish. The straitened 
circumstances in which she has been compelled 
to live have prevented her from yielding to self- 
indulgence or frivolity. Even her hunger for 
the beautiful has been a discipline ; for since 
beautiful things were never given to her ready- 
made, she has been forced to create them. Her 
lot in life, w^hich she has always lamented, has 
given her a self-control, a courage, a power, 



which she never would have hail in the world 
had she grown up in luxury. She is too young 
to see it, but it is very clear to me that Polly 
Oliver is a glorious product of circumstances." 

" But," objected Edgar, " that 's not fair. You 
are giving all the credit to circumstances, and 
none to Polly's own nature." 

" Not at all. If there had not been the 
native force to develop, exi)erience would have 
had nothing to work upon. As it is, her lovely 
childish possibilities have become jirobabilities, 
and I look to see the girlish i>robabilities blos- 
som into womanly certainties." 

Meanwhile Polly, it must be confessed, was 
not at the present time ([uite justifying the good 
opinions of her friends. 

She had few of the passive virtues. She 
could bear sharp stabs of misfortune, which fired 
her energy and pride, but she resented pin- 
pricks. She could carry heavy, splendid bur- 
dens cheerfully, but she fretted under little cares. 
She could serve by daring, but not by waiting. 
She would have gone to the stake or the scaf- 
fold, I think, with tolerable grace; but she would 
probably have recanted any article of faith if she 
had been confronted with life imprisonment. 

Trouble that she took upon herself for the 
sake of others and out of love, she accepted 
sweetly. Sorrows that she did not choose, 
which were laid upon her without her consent, 
and which were "just the ones she did not 
want, and did not need, and would not have, 
and could ;/(?^ bear," — these sorrows found her 
unwilling, bitter, and impatient. 

Yet if life is a school and we all have lessons 
to learn in it, the Great Teacher will be unlikely 
to set us tasks which we have already finished. 
Some review there must be, for certain things 
are specially hard to keep in mind, and have to 
be gone over and over, lest they fade into forget- 
fulness. But there must be continued progress 
in a life-school. There is no parrot repetition, 
singsong, meaningless, of words that have ceased 
to be vital. New lessons are to be learned as 
fast as the old ones are understood. Of what 
use to set Polly tasks to develop her bravery, 
when she was alread}' brave ? 

Courage was one of the little jewels set in her 
fairy crown when she was bom, but there was 
a round, empty space beside it, where Patience 



148 



POLLY OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



[Mar. 



should have been. Further along was Daring, 
making a brilliant show, but again there was 
a tiny vacancy waiting for Prudence. 

The crown made a fine appearance, on the 
whole, because the large jewels were mostly in 
place, and the light of these blinded you to 
the lack of the others; but to the eye of the 
keen observer there was a want of symmetry- 
and completeness. 

Polly knew the unfinished state of her fairy 
crown as well as anybody else. Slie could 
not plead ignorance as an excuse ; but though 
she would have gone on poli.shing the great 
gems with a fiery zeal, she added the little jewels 
very slowly, and that only on compulsion. 

There had been seven or eight weeks of par- 
tial unconsciousness, when the sorrow and the 
loneliness of life stole into her waking dreams 
only vaguely and at intervals : when she was 
unhappy, and could not remember why; and 
slept, to wake and wonder and sleep again. 

Then there were days and wrecks when the 
labor of living was all that the jaded body could 
accomplish ; when memory was weak ; when life 
began at the pillow, and ended at the foot of 
the bed, and the universe was bounded by the 
chamber windows. 

But when her strength came back, and she 
stood in the middle of the floor, clothed and in 
her right mind, well enough to remember, — oh! 
then indeed the deep waters of bitterness rolled 
over poor Polly's head and into her heart, and 
she sank beneath them, without a wish or a 
struggle to rise. 

" If it had been anything else ! " she sobbed. 
'• Why did God take away my most precious, 
my only one to live for, when I was trying to 
take care of her, trying to be good, trying to 
pay back the strength that had been poured 
out on me, — miserable, worthless me! Surely, 
if a girl was willing to do without a father and 
sisters and brothers, without good times and 
riches, willing to work like a galley-slave, will- 
ing to 'scrimp ' and plan and save for ever and 
ever; surely 'they' might be willing that she 
should keep her mother! " 

Poor Polly ! Providence at this time seemed 
nothing more than a collection of demons which 
she classified under the word ' they,' and which 
she felt certain were scourging her pitilessly and 



needlessly. She could not see any rea.son or jus- 
tification in 'their' cruelties, — for that was the 
only term she could apply to her afflictions. 

Mrs. Bird had known sorrow, and she did her 
best to minister to the troubled and wrong little 
heart ; but it was so torn that it could be healed 
only by the soft balm of Time. 

Perhaps, a long while after such a grief (it is 
always " perhaps " in a great crisis, though the 
certainty is ours if we will but grasp it), perhaps 
the hidden meaning of the sorrow steals gently 
into our softened hearts. We see, as in a vision, 
a new light by which to work ; we rise, cast oft' 
the outgrown shell, antl build us a more stately 
mansion, in which to dwell till God makes that 
home, also, too small to hold the ever-growing 
soul ! 

Chapter XIII. 

A GARDEN FLOWER OR A BANIAN-TREE. 

In August Mr. John Bird took Polly to the 
Nobles' ranch in Santa Barbara, in the hope 
that the old scenes and old friends might soothe 
her, and give her strength to take up the burden 
of life with something of her former sunshiny 
spirit. 

Edgar was a junior now, back at his work, 
sunburned and strong from his summer's out- 
ing. He had seen Polly twice after his return 
to San Francisco ; but the first meeting was an 
utter failure, and the second nearly as trying. 
Neither of them could speak of the subject that 
absorbed their thoughts, nor had either courage 
enough to begin other topics of conversation. 
The mere sight of Edgar was painful to the 
girl, now, — it brought to mind so much that 
was dear, so much that was past and gone. 

In the serenity of the ranch -life, the long 
drives with Margery and Philip, the quiet chats 
with Mrs. Noble, Polly gained somewhat in 
strength ; but the old " spring," vitality, and 
enthusiasm had vanished for the time, and the 
little circle of friends marveled at this Polly 
without her nonsense, her ready smiles, her 
dancing dimples, her extravagances of speech. 

Once a week, at least, Dr. George would 
steal an hour or two, and saddle his horse to 
take Polly for a gallop over the hills, through 
the canons, or on the beach. 

His half-grave, half-cheery talks on these 



i893] 



POLLY OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



349 



rides did her much good. He sympathized ami 
undcrstooil and helped, even when he chided, 
and Polly sometimes forgot her own troubles in 
wondering whether Dr. George had not suf- 
fered and o\ercome a good many of his own. 

'* Vou make one great error, my child," he 
said one lUi)- in response to one of Polly's out- 
bursts of grief; "and it is an error young peo- 
ple very naturally fall into. Vou think that no 
one was ever chastened as you are. You say, 
with Jeremiah, ' No prophet is afflicted like 
unto this prophet!' Now, you are simjjly bear- 
ing your own share of the world's trouble. 
How can you hope to escape the universal lot ? 
There are dozens of people within sight of this 
height of land who have borne as much, and 
must bear as much again. These things come 
to all of us ; they are stern facts ; they are here, 
and they must be borne ; but it makes all the 
difterence in the world how we bear them. We 
can clench our fists, close our lips tightly, and 
say, ' Since I must, I can ' ; or we can look up 
and say cheerfully, ' I will ! ' The first method 
is philosophical and strong enough, but there is 
no sweetness in it. If you have this burden to 
carry, make it as light, not as heavy, as you 
can ; if you have this grief to endure, you want 
at least to come out of it sweeter and stronger 
than ever before. It seems a pity to let it go 
for nothing. You can live for your mother now 
as truly as you did in the old times ; you know- 
very well how she would have had you live." 

Polly felt a sense of shame steal over her as 
she looked at Dr. George's sweet, strong smile 
and resolute mouth, and she said, with the hint 
of a new note in her voice : 

" I see, and I will try ; but, oh ! Dr. George, 
how does one ever learn to live without lov- 
ing, — 1 mean the kind of loving I had in my 
life ? How does one contrive to be good when 
one is not happy ? How can one walk in the 
right path when there does n't seem to be any 
brightness to go by?" 

" My dear httle girl," and Dr. George looked 
soberly out on the ocean, dull and lifeless under 
the gray October sky, " when the sun of one's 
happiness is .set, one lights a candle called ' Pa- 
tience,' and guides one's footsteps by that I " 

" If only I were not a rich heiress," said Polly 



next morning, " I dare say I should be better 
ofl"; for then I simply could n't have gone to 
bed for two or three months, and idled about 
like this for another. But there seems to be no 
end to my money. Kdgar paid all the bills in 
San Francisco, and saved twenty out of our pre- 
cious three hundred and twelve dollars. Then 
Mrs. Greenwood's rent-money has been accu- 
mulating four months, while I have been visiting 
you and Mrs. Bird ; and the Greenwoods are 
willing to pay sixty dollars a month for the 
house still, even though times are dull ; so I am 
hopelessly wealthy, — but I am very glad. The 
old desire to do something, and be something, 
seems to have faded out of my life with all the 
other beautiful things. I think I shall go to a 
girl's college and study, or find some other way 
of getting through the hateful endless years that 
stretch out ahead I Why, I am only a little past 
seventeen, and I may live to be ninety ! I do 
not see how I can ever stand this sort of thing 
for seventy-three years ! " 

Mrs. Noble smiled in spite of herself "Just 
apply yourself to getting through this year, 
Polly dear, and let the other seventy-two take 
care of themselves. They will bring their own 
cares and joys and responsibilities and prob- 
lems, little as you realize it now. This year, 
grievous as it seems, will fade by and by, until 
you can look back at it with resignation and 
without tears." 

" I don't want it to fade ! " cried Polly, pas- 
sionately. " I never want to look back at it 
without tears ! I want to be faithful always ; 
I want never to forget, and never to feel less 
sorrow than I do this minute ! " 

" Take that blue-covered Emerson on the 
little table, Polly; open it at the essay on 
' Compensation,' and read the page marked 
with the orange leaf" 

The tears were streaming down Polly's 
cheeks, but she opened the book, and read 
with a faltering voice : 

We cannot part with our f — fr — friends. We cannot 
let our angels go. [Sob.] We do not see that they 
only go out that archangels may come in. . . . We do 
not believe there is any force in to-day to rival or re-cre- 
ate that beautiful yesterday. [Sob.] We linger in the 
ruins of the old lent where once we had shelter. . . . 
We cannot again find aught so dear, so sweet, so grace- 
ful. [Sob.] But we sit and weep in vain. We cannot 



350 



POI.I.Y OLIVER S PROBLEM. 



[Mar. 



stay amid the ruins. The voice of the Ahiiighty saith, 
" Up and onward for evermore ! '■ . . . The sure years 
reveal the deep remedial force tlial underlies all sorrow. 
. . . The man or woman who would have remained 
a sunny garden flower, with no room for its roots and 
too much sunshine for its head, by the falling of the walls 
and the neglect of the gardener is made the banian of the 
forest, yielding shade and fruit to wide neighborhoods 
of men. 

" Do you see, Polly ? " 

"Yes, I see; but oh! I was so happy being 
a garden flower with the sunshine on my head, 
and I can't seem to care the least little bit for 
being a banian-tree! " 

" Well," said Mrs. Noble, smiling through 
her own tears, " I fear that God will never in- 
sist on your ' yielding shade and fruit to wide 
neighborhoods of men ' unless you desire it. 
Not all sunny garden flowers become banian- 
trees by the falling of the walls. Some of 
them are crushed beneath the ruins, and never 
send any more color or fragrance into the 
world. " 

'' The garden flower had happiness before 
the walls fell, " said Polly. "It is happiness I 
want. " 

" The banian-tree had blessedness after the 
walls fell, and it is blessedness I want; but, 
then, I am forty-seven, and you are seventeen! " 
sighed Mrs. Noble, as they walked through the 
orange orchard to the house. 

One day, in the middle of October, the mail 
brought Polly two letters : the first from Edgar, 
who often dashed off cheery scrawls in the 
hope of getting cheery replies, which never 
came; and the second from Mrs. Bird, who 
had a plan to propose. 

Edgar wrote : 

" . . . I have a new boarding-place in San 
Francisco, a stone's throw from Mrs. Bird's, 
whose mansion I can look down uj)on from a 
lofty height reached by a flight of fifty wooden 
steps — good training in athletics! Mrs. Mor- 
ton is a kind landlady and the house is a home. 
in a certain way : 

" But oh ! the difference to me 
'Twixt tweedledum and tweedledee I 

" There is a Morton girl, too ; but she neither 
plays nor sings nor jokes, nor even looks, — 
in fine, she is not Polly! I have come to the 



conclusion, now, that girls in a house are al- 
most nuisances, — 1 mean, of course, when they 
are not PoUies. Oh! why are you so young, 
and so loaded with this world's goods, that 
you will never need me for a boarder again? 
Mrs. Bird is hoping to see you soon, and 1 
chose my humble lodging on this hill-top be- 
cause, from my attic's lonely height, I can 
watch you going in and out of your ' marble 
halls'; and you will almost pa.ss my door as 
you take the car. In view of this pleasing 
prospect (now, alas ! somewhat distant), I send 
you a scrap of newspaper verse which pro- 
phesies my sentiments. It is signed ' M. E. W.,' 
and Tom Mills says whoever wrote it knows 
you. 

WHEN POLLY GOES BY. 

'T is but poorly I 'm lodged in a little side-street, 
Which is seldom disturbed by the hurry of feet, 
For the flood-tide of life long ago ebbed away 
From its homely old houses, rain-beaten and gray ; 
And I sit with my pipe in the window, and sigh 
At the buffets of fortune — till Polly goes by. 

There 's a flaunting of ribbons, a flurry of lace, 
And a rose in the bonnet above a bright face, 
A glance from two eyes so deliciously blue 
The midsummer seas scarcely rival their hue ; 
And once in a while, if the wind 's blowing high. 
The sound of soft laughter as Polly goes by. 

Tlien up jumps my heart and begins to beat fast. 
" She 's coming I " it whispers. " She 's here ! She has 
passed I" 
While I throw up the sash and lean breathlessly down 
To catch the last glimpse of her vanishing gown, 
Excited, delighted, yet wondering why 
My senses desert me if Polly goes by. 

Ah ! she must be a witch, and the magical spell 
She has woven about me has done its work well, 
For the morning grows brighter, and gayer the air 
That my landlady sings as she sweeps down the stair ; 
And my poor lonely garret, up close to the sky. 
Seems something like heaven when Polly goes by I 

" P. S. — Tony has returned to the university. 
He asked after the health of the * sunset-haired 
goddess' yesterday. You 'd better hurry back 
and take care of me; — no. joking aside, don't 
worry about me, little missionary; I 've out- 
grown Tony, and I hope I don't need to be 
reformed oftener than once a year. 

" Yours, " Edgar." 



1893] 



I'OLLV OLIVERS PROBLEM. 



351 



Mrs. Bird's letter ran thus: in your place' (as somebody said under different 

" Mv DKARKsr PoLLYKiNs: We havc lived circumstances), but she can never fill it ! Why 

without you just about as long as we can en- not spend the winter with us, and do this lovely 

dure it. The boys have returned to school and work, keeping up other studies if you are strong 

college. Mr. liird contemplates one more trip enough? It will be so sweet for you to feel 

to Honolulu, and brother John and I need that out of your own sadness you can comfort 

some one to coddle and to worry over. I have and brighten the lives of these lonely, suffering, 

not spoken to you of your future, because I these motherless or fiUherless children. It will 

wishetl to wait until you opened the sul^ject. seem hard to begin, no doubt ; but new life 

It is too late for you to begin your course of will flow in your veins when you take up your 

kindergarten training this year, and I think you active, useful work again. The joyousness that 

are far too delicate just now to undertake so God put into your soul before you were born, 

arduous a work ; however, you are young, and my Polly, is a sacred trust. You must not hide 

that can wait for a bit. As to the story-telling it in a napkin, dear, or bury it, or lose it. It 

in the hospitals and asylums, I wish you could was given to you only that you should share it 

find courage and strength to go on with that, — with others. It was intended for the world at 

not for your own sake alone, but for the sake large, though it was bestowed upon you in par- 

of others. ticular. Come, dear, to one who knows all 

" As I have told you before, the money is set about it, — one whom you are sweet enough to 

aside for that special purpose, and the work call " Your Fairy God.mothkr." 
will be carried on by somebody. Of course I 

can get a substitute if you refuse, and that sub- " Mrs. Noble," said Polly, with a sober sort 

stitute may, after a little time, satisfy the impa- of smile, " the ' Ancon' sails on the 20th, and I 

tient children, who flatten their noses against the am going to sail with her." 

window-panes and wish for Miss Pauline every ''So soon? What for, dear?" 

day of their meager lives. But I fear the substi- " I am going to be a banian-tree, if you 

tute will never be Polly ! She may ' rattle round please," answered Polly. 

( To be continued.) 



DRIVING THE COW. 



By Virginia Woodward Cloud. 



It 's just the time when it does seem 
Like everything had gotten still, — 

'Cept often, down beside the stream, 
Why, maybe there 's a whippoorwill; 

And frogs always ! But, somehow, they 

Don't seem like noises made by day. 



Then all up through the meadow-grass 
It 's nice an' cool for " Blossom's " feet. 

I let the bars down while we pass. 

An' 't seems like ever)thing smells sweet. 

It 's red out where the sun went down. 

But all the woods below are brown. 



An' there 's one star ; but just as soon 
As that comes out, it 's gettin' dark ! 

'Way ofif, the cow-bells make a tune. 
An' then our dog begins to bark, 

An' lights, up at the farm, peep out, 

An' Granny's candle moves about. 




One night, when the hills were drenched with dew, 

And moonbeams lay about. 
The comical cone of a young bamboo 

Came cautiously creeping out. 

It tossed its cap upon the ground, 

Amazed at the sudden light, 
And so pleased it was with the world it found 

That it grew six feet that night. 



It grew and it grew in the summer breeze; 

It grew and it grew, until 
It looked right over the cam- 
phor-trees 
To the further side of the 
hill. 




.Tr?^ 




Vor.. XX.— 



23- 



The next were tall vases, and medicine-cases, 

With dippers and cups galore : 
There were ])latters and bowls, and pickets and poles, 

And matting to spread on the floor. 



-^ 




HOLLY-HERRY AND MISTLETOE. 

(.•/ C/iristiniis RoDtancc of I4g2.) 



Bv M. Carrie Hyde. 



\Begun in tlu Di-cember number. ^ 
VII. SWORDS, HALBERDS, AND CROSSBOWS. 

The goodly men rode far, rode fast, 
And reached the robber-den at last. 

An hour after returning to Twin Towers, 
though the sun was low, Egbert, with a fine 



reached his ears, saw his httle sword upon the 
wall, and reaching till his fingers clasped upon 
it, caught it down. Then pushing with all his 
boyish strength against the oak door, he forced 
it open, and running out into the midst of clash- 
ing steel and clanging halberd, cried : 

" Hola ! 't is Count Egbert, come to rescue 



following of armed men, was on his way to the "le \ " and urging his way to tlie knight's side, 



robbers' haunt. 

Upon Egbert's right, unhelmeted and with 
snowy hair drifting to his shoulders, rode the 
young knight's counselor-in-chief, a soldier sea- 
soned by rugged warfare at home and abroad. 

It was almost noon of the next day when 
Egbert's men entered the rocky ravine so 
snugly hiding the Hardi- Hoods. 



he used his little sword in sturdy protection 
of his friend till Egbert had time to stay his 
wounded arm by a quick bintling of his hand- 
kerchief upon it. 

The engagement was not so cruel nor bloody 
an affray as many of that day, and ended with 
less slain and hurt than might have been ex- 
pected. Ethelred's right cheek was pinked. 



Wood-cutter Canute, who had joined the rob- but what cared he for that ? 

ber-assailers, when he learned their errand as " Now, your swords, your crossbows, jour 

they passed his house, strode ahead as guide. halberds ! " demanded Egbert, not unkindly, the 

"We will ride at yon wall of rock, and knock moment he had conquered; and after taking 

upon it till they swarm forth as bees from an the counselor-in-chief aside for his advice, he 

hive ; then, with quick play of arms, all are at announced the punishment upon the Hardi- 

our mercy," said the old counselor. Hoods. 

" Marry ! " cried Egbert, " I have a plan " 'T is banishment to the high seas," said he, 

that betters that. These bees do sting. What " until, perchance, you come upon some new 

say you to a fire before that oak door, and shore. You are never to return to this, our coast, 

then — " But in an instant the whole of his Now, away to yonder cove, where lies a boat 

men were surrounded by the Hardi-Hoods, of mine, which, before night, shall sail with you 

who seemed to have sprung from the ground ^H aboard." 

beneath the horses' feet. " 'T is generous of you. Count Egbert, and 

"At them, ye brave men ! " called Egbert, ^vx- go right willingly," responded the chief, 



while the rest made ready for the departure. 

" What shall we do witli this leaking bag of 
barley ? " cried one. 

" I will take it," said Canute ; " I have a 
fancy for that which is my own." 

VIII. ENTER ALL. 

They come ! they come ! in brave array, 
And bring a merry Christmas day. 

Christmas day of 1492 had dnwned crisp 
of this sudden broil without, as a cry or shout and clear; and though there was no sound of 

356 



trying to reach a robber with the ])oint of his 
sword, but missing his thrust, for his horse 
stumbled. 

Then a hand-to-hand fight began. Strokes 
and thrusts filled the air, and laid many low 
upon the trampled ground, while a shaft from 
the well-aimed crossbow of the robber-chief 
opened a vein in Egbert's arm. 

It was at this point that Ethclred, casting 
about him in the tight-shut cave for the cause 



JlOl.l.V-HKRRV AM) MISTLETOE. 



357 



merriment without or within Charlock castle, in •' Ves, my loni," said the cook, meekly • and 

the kitchen there was a hoihng and lirewing, a courtesying, she hastened to the kitchen to set 

sputtering and stewing, that betokened hearty the scullery-boys to stealing raisins and'slirinii 

l>rei)aration lor the great holiday citron. 

"Yea, let the lads and lassies make merry!" Hertha. no longer drooping like the lute- 
cried Sir Charles to the cook ; "and build you siring ribbon on her last year's bonnet, nor 




COL'NT EGBERT AND HIS MEN ON THE WAY TO RESCUE ETHELRF.O. 



a plum-pudding that shall be no less in girth 
than the waist of the largest of the three oaks ! " 

" Prithee," said the cook, " 't is seldom a pud- 
ding can be compounded that size, before it 
falls asunder." 

" Let it fall asunder, then ! " thundered Sir 
Charles, a gleam of wrath in his eye; "but 
make you it as I have ordered it, or " 



sad and woebegone as the cypress-tree, was 
spruced most chipperly, a bit of misdetoe in her 
red belt, and the train of her long gray gown 
pinned high, that she might the more quickly 
move from room to room, while she and Holly- 
berry busied themselves right gladly in decking 
the walls of the great hall with holly-berry and 
mistletoe. 



358 



HOLLV-BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



[Mar. 



Now, that is better, and becomes you as well 
as the day." 

The clock went one, two, three; the boar's 
head and the stuffed peacock were upon the 
board, flanked right and left by the smoking 
plum-pudding and steaming wassail-bowl, when 
a bugle-call was heard, thrice blending with the 



Soon Bertha reappeared, gowned in a pink 
brocade, with still the bit of mistletoe at her 
girdle, looking as lovely as a blush-rose, though 
she was somewhat anxious, and spoke but little 
for watching of the clock. 

Sir Charles was clad with more care than for 
a long week past. His hair and beard were 
brushed until they 
shone, and a 
medal hung upon 
the breast of the 
new slashed doub- 
let he wore ; while 
Holly-berry, in a 
holiday suit of 
white, bespattered 
with bright red 
dots, and with 
long, pointed cap 
to match, belted 
his waist with a 
spray of the red 
and green holly- 
berry, and stuck a 
bit of it in his cap- 
band, till he looked 
as festive as the 
plum-pudding it- 
self 

Only the Lady 
Charlock, in a 
somber gown of 
black, seemed de- 
pressed and sad. 

" 'T is three 
times the crows 
have called a fu- 
neral at us!" ob- 
served she, with 
a sigh, as crying 

" Caw, caw, caw," the crows flew from east to 
west acro.ss the castle. " I hope your father 
hears them not, for 't is so bad an evil omen 
— the worst that is ! " 

" Mayhap not alway," responded Bertha. " It 
is somewhat fanciful, but it seemeth me they opened wide, and into Sir Charles's very pres- 
are only saying, ' (iood Lady Charlock, why ence came Egbert, P^thelred, the counselor- 
wear you a mourning-frock ? Is it because you in-chief, and the entire retinue of returned 
wish to look as black as any crow ? ' Go to, robber-victors. 
Mother! Let me fix this holly at your throat. " By the muscle and brawn of twenty genera- 




MAKE VOU IT AS I HAVE ORDERED IT ! THUNDERED SIR CHARLES. 



trampling of horses, and the " Whoa, you there ! 
Get you up, nag ! " and " Have a care ! " in 
strange voices, just without Sir Charlock's door. 
Fag Sir Charles could answer a second wind- 
ing of the bugle-horn, the double front door 



x893] 



HOLLY-BERRY AND MISTLETOE. 



359 



tions of Charlocks ! what do you here, Count 
Egbert Traymore of Twin Towers ?" demanded 
Sir Charles, feeling for his sword. 

'* I bring your son, Kthelred, as a peace-ofter- 
ing, well fitting Christmas day. Let bygones 
go by, Sir Charlock," replied Egbert. 

'• .A.nil won't you forget the feud, Father ? " 
cried 15ertha, advancing upon her father, with 
ap])ealing eves, as Sir Charles clasped his son 
in his arms. 

" What feud ? I know of no feud. 'T is 
already forgotten ! " exclaimed Sir Charles, ex- 
tending his hand most cordially to Egbert. " I 
have my son; that is enough. Here is your 
Egbert, and welcome. We will to the Christ- 
mas-board, and be happy." 

" Holly-berry, you rogue, you shall sit to my 
right, the Jack-sauce for my pudding," said Sir 
Charles ; " for I believe much of this is your 
devising; Egbert shall sit next his Bertha, 
'neath that mistle-bough and by my Lady 
Charlock's right; while Ethelred, who has the 
look of one underfed on black bread, sits by 
me, on the left " ; and so ranged and seated, 
there was not a merrier board for miles round 
than that of Sir Charles Charlock. 

" How came your cheek so pinked, Ethel- 
red, my little man ; and Egbert so stiff in the 
use of his left arm ? " asked Sir Charles, when 
they had reached mid-meal ; and all at the table 
soon heard the story of Count Egbert's victory. 

" So," continued Sir Charles, "here is to the 
brave Count Egbert I " 

The toast was received with cheers. 

" Now, Holly-the-wise, you shall call the 
next. To whom do you cry it ? " said Sir 
Charles. 

Holly-berry stood upon his seat, and shak- 
ing his cap-bells, said : 

" Adown the road, far in the wood, 
Lives one who 's always kind and good, 
Turns hate to love, and wrong to right, 



As changes darkness into hght ; — 
You know her name, lei us bestow 
A ringing cheer on Mistletoe." 

" Hear !. Hear ! Hear ! " cried Count Egbert. 
" Cheer ! Cheer ! Cheer ! " cried Sir Charles, 




BERTHA AND HOLLV-BERRV DECORATE THE GREAT HALL. 

" with another, as merry, to this word-wag, 
Holly-berry ! " 

And Mistletoe, well content that the way 
of true love had thus been made smooth by 
her, sat in the blaze of her own Vule log, and 
knit her thoughts into a new romance. 



THE END. 



JUST FOR FUN. 




1^ 
ft 



Why do you jump \vlierever you j5o V 

AsKed d-ie rabbit . in 9 2. ; 
Jjecause it is leap-year, cloi\cKerKnov/ , 
Said the liamoj"oii5 kan^ai'oo. 



"I'd like a. berth in the sleeping-coacK',' 
Sa.id d.n ElepKa^nt, who wexs going far; 

"The only trouble. thougK, is my trunk; 
TUbX Kzns to ride in the ba^gga^ge-cax!" 




Ooine liold bad thieves m cl cave lau^hotL out , 

AstKeir haqs of (^olii they tosscd ; 

3h ' not SO loud ! said one of ihc crox^d; 

Foi" ii' \^e are found , v/e re lost , 
360 



J 



JUST FOR FUN. 



;6i 




•H 



Five policemen in tKe nigKt-time trying to pnd ^ wicked tnier, 
All in line, evnd witK de^rk-Wnterns, ea.cK of them sKe^king like a. lee^f. 
'SK!*'cried the first, a.nd sK!" tKe second, sk! ' tKe tKird, exnd sK! tKe fourth, 
^rl|C-i Let's one go ed.st, r^ a.nd one go west, -J^ o^nd one go soutK, ^^ 

exnd one go north. 
"Well," sa^id the fifth, of a.11 most frightened, "tKa.t will only ta^ke four, you know; 
Hs^dn't 1 better run bsick Kome, since there's no p1d.ce left for me to go? 




If you w&nt Bl bonnet„ 

With ostrich-plumes on it. 
Please ta,ke 'em from ^ 
__ some other bird!". _ 




Were you. at BulU Hun? Say^ the little boy; 

A-nd sqy^s. Ke.the old 5o/er-man, 
Why, I rfrow out of breath when I think oi it _ 

I was one of the ones who ran! 



THE WHITE CAVE 



Bv William O. Stoddard. 




[Be^tn in the November number.'] 

Chapter VII. 

THE grand CORROBOREE. 

The roar of the surf 
on the shore of the 
ocean, after the ears of 
a listener have become 
accustomed to it, does 
not seem to interfere 
greatly with other sounds 
which are different from it. The roar of a 
waterfall is much like that of the surf, and Ned 
and Hugh had become so accustomed to it 
that they could talk and hear almost as well 
as if it had not been there. So when they 
heard through the darkness of the forest an 
altogether distinct sound, it brought them to 
their feet, ready for action. It was natural that 
their first words should be : " The black can- 
nibals ! They are here I " 

Hugh had been lulled almost into slumber 
by the monotonous song of the waterfall. Ned 
had been half dozing at the foot of a tree, 
barely awake enough to begin to guess that it 
must be almost time to change watches with 
Hugh. 

His eyes had opened suddenly, and he was 
conscious that he was listening to something. 
" It sounded like the breaking of a stick! " he 
said to himself " What is it ? " 

From the night shadows two human eyes 
were staring at him and Hugh and the fire. 

" They are two boys ! " whispered a voice. 
" How could they ever have come here ? They 
seem to be alone. Well, if those six villains 
knew it, they would rob them. This is a 
strange piece of business ! " 

Just before that, he had made a forward 
step, and had trodden, full weight, upon a dry, 
brittle branch of a tree. It had broken with 
a sharp, loud snap, and that was the noise 



which had startled the boys. He was now 
standing still and stroking his long, bushy, red 
beard. 

" I must warn them," he said to himself; 
" but it may be the end of me. Perhaps 1 
can get across the mountains again, and hide 
somewhere else. It is sure death to me, if I 
am taken." 

He was almost afraid of doing a good action, 
for fear it might betray him to his enemies. He 
seemed to fear danger from every human being, 
good or bad. 

He remained perfectly cool and calm about 
it, but suddenly he turned his head quickly, 
as if he too were listening as intently as was 
Ned Wentworth. 

" What 's that ? " he exclaimed. " Can it be 
possible ? They are coming this way ! Now 
I 've got to go right in, or be torn to pieces. 
This is horrible I " 

For just a moment he stood still. 

Thud, thud, crash, crash, — a great, rushing 
sound, accompanied by loud, fierce cries, came 
through the forest. Whatever it might mean, 
the boys had their guns leveled, ready to de- 
fend themselves. Meanwhile the noise grew 
louder and nearer. 

" Hugh," said Ned, " they 're coming ! " 

" Stand your ground, Ned ! " said Hugh. 

" Boys," shouted a deep voice out of the 
darkness, " get close to the fire. That 's your 
only chance. I 'm coming there, too. The fire ! 
Quick ! " 

" Ned — " began Hugh, but he was cut short 
there, for a great, dim, blurred form bounded 
from the shadows and flashed past him with 
a long, flying leap that carried it clear over 
the fire. 

Hugh stood motionless, but Ned was more 
wide awake. Still, it was almost by instinct 
that his gun came up to his shoulder and was 
discharged at that startling phantom. Over and 



362 



Till-; WHITE CAVK. 



over t lie c real lire idIIlhI upon tlic ^aound, wliilc 
another and then another followed it. 

" Don't shoot again, boys I Stanil close by 
the fire. Those are kangaroos I And now 
come the dingoes ! Hear that ? " 

"Dingoes, Net! I 'i'hey are wild dogs!" 
shouted Hugh, as he obeyeil the warning. 
"They won't come near a fire. Oh, 1 'm ghul 
it 's a good blaze I " 

'• Vou may be thankful," said the deep, warn- 
ing voice, as its owner came striding in and 
stood be.side them. " There they come ! I 've 
lived in these woods a long time, but I never 
before knew of dingoes running kangaroos at 
night." 

" I 've known them to kill hundreds of 
sheep at night, upon our jjlace," said Hugh. 
" That 's their time. I think they get their 
kangaroo mutton whenever they can." 

" I should n't wonder if they did, only I 
never saw it. What a pack ! " exclaimed the 
stranger. Then, remembering that he had not 
said a word as to who he was, he turned to Ned 
and remarked suddenly, " You never saw me 
before. My name 's Beard." 

" Beard ? " said Ned. " My name is Went- 
worth. And this is Hugh Parry." 

'• I know," said Beard, looking keenly at 
Hugh; "son of Sir Frederick Parry, of the 
Grampians. Look at those dingoes! There's 
enough of them to tear down a dozen men ! " 

The forest seemed to be full of gleaming 
eyes, white teeth, snapping jaws, fierce yells and 
snarls, as the dingoes dashed around, hither and 
thither, longing to rush in upon the three hu- 
man beings and the fallen kangaroo, but in 
wild-beast fear of the glowing camp-fire. 

" Heap up the fire," said Beard. " We must 
keep it blazing. They won't stay here. Some 
of the pack went right on after the other 
kangaroos. Don't waste any ammunition on 
dingoes. It 's precious stuff, out here." 

The barking wild dogs circled around the 
camp again and again, and then, as if with one 
accord, they gave it up, and the sound of their 
cries died away in the depths of the woods. 

As for Ka-kak-kia and his five comrades, 
they had not traveled far after finding the trail 
which they intended to follow next morning. 



3^3 

and they were now sound asleep among the 
bushes. 

The larger band of blackfellows had been 
in a (lilierent state of mind as to the best way 
of spending an evening. It had been a great 
thing for them to capture so very large and 
fat a kangaroo as the one which was now 
cooking in their deep, fire-heajjcd oven-hole. 
-Vs soon as he was done he would make a 
splendid barbecue, with which to celebrate 
their victory over Ka-kak-kia. 

It was not a great while before they began 
to rake away the fire and pry out the roast. 

They ate it all, taking plenty of time and 
dividing fairly. Even the speared warrior ate 
well. The darkness came upon them before 
their meal was over, but their fire had not been 
permitted to burn low. It was heaped and 
heaped, for it was to be the central point of 
a grand " palti," or " corroboree " dance, to be 
performed in the most complete manner, be- 
fore taking a war-hunt after Ka-kak-kia and 
his followers. 

One of them must have had with him a bag 
of white ocher, and the kangaroo the}- had 
roasted had supplied grease enough to turn it 
into paint. They were all of them corrob- 
oree artists, and knew how to smear lines of 
white along their ribs and limbs, so that each 
black form suggested the outHnes of a bleached 
skeleton. Time was consumed by the work 
of decoration, but at last they were ready for 
the dance. With their " wirri " or waddy-clubs 
in hand, ui)on beginning, and afterward with 
spears, shields, and other sticks, successively, 
around and around the roaring bonfire, which 
they had piled up with resinous wood, the hid- 
eous figures pranced, and danced, and whirled 
to the time of a wild, monotonous chant. 

Then the dance changed, and one by one 
they bounded, and gesticulated, and boasted, 
and whooped, and brandished their weapons, 
looking very much like so many skeletons 
capering between the firelight and the dark- 
ness. The wonder was, how^hey could caper 
so long and yell so loudly, after having eaten 
so much kangaroo, of which, indeed, nothing 
but the picked bones remained. 

It was very late when the corroboree ended, 
and at the hour when the black, skeleton- 



364 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Mar. 



painted savages gave it up and lay down to 
sleep off their fatigue, an absolute contrast to 
this barbaric scene was presented by the camp 
of Sir Frederick Parry, on the bank of the 
swift river. 

Two white tents had been pitched — one for 
.Sir Frederick and Lady Maude, and one for 
Helen Gordon. Another tent-cover lay on 
the grass; but it had not been set up, for it 
belonged to the absent boys and was not now 
needed. Marsh, the mule-driver, lay sound 
asleep on a blanket near the spot where his 
mules were hitched. Bob McCracken also lav 



the sentinel, sniffing, whining, yawning, as if he 
were still uneasy. 

Ned and Hugh did not feel at all like going 
to sleep again, after having been stirred up in 
such a manner. As soon as the excitement 
about the wild dogs subsided a little, they 
began to stare hard at the man Beard. He was 
far more unexpected out there in the bush than 
were wolves or kangaroos. He was as little 
e.xpected as the blackfellows. 

The boys' presence was as great a surprise to 
him, and he said so. 




HE SAT b'l 



IHt 1 IKt A.-.U ^OliKKU KoR lllMiELl SLlLli AI TEK bLlCE uh KA.NuAKl 



asleep on a blanket, just inside of the line to 
which he had carefully fastened the halter of 
every horse in the camp. On one side of him 
lay a rifle, and on the other a gun, and he 
had his boots on. As for Sir Frederick's other 
men, Keets must have been asleep in the wagon, 
but Brand was awake and on his feet, walking 
slowly, steadily all around the camp as a sen- 
tinel. He had a gun on his shoulder, a re- 
volver in his belt, and his eyes were all the 
while busy, as if he expected somebody. 

The two hounds lay under the wagon ; the 
fire burned well ; the horses and mules stamped 
now and then: while ^'ip walked around behind 



" How on earth did you get away out here ?" 
he asked ; and they told him, very freely, while 
he sat by the fire and cooked for himself slice 
after slice of kangaroo meat, like a man who 
was ver)' hungry. 

" He 's a tremendous fellow," whisjjcred 
Hugh to Ned. " He must be a bushranger, 
and a desperate sort of chap I " 

" He seems good-natured enough," whispered 
Ned. "He looks as if he might be as strong 
as a horse." 

" I think he is," said Hugh. 

" Who did you say were in Sir Frederick's 
])arty?" Beard asked them. "Tell me again." 



i»93-l 



THE WIIITK CAVE. 



165 



He seemeil to be talking like a man hall 
awake, or in a sort of dream; bin Ilu,L;h 
repeated the names, one by one. 

'• Helen dordon?" said Heard. '-Any rela- 
tion to the (K)rdons of {''alcon Hall, in \'ork- 
shire ?" 

"That 's where they lived once," said Hugh. 
" My grandfather does n't keej) up the hall 
now. He has leased it. My mother was his 
only daughter. Uncle Robert 's in India, in 
the army — " 

''Your mother was Maude Gordon? Your 
cousin Helen is a daughter of Robert Gor- 
don ? " asked Beard. 

" Yes," said Hugh, thinking it odd to be 
questioned about his family by a wild, red- 
beartled fellow, there in the wilderness. 

" And they 're lost ? Lost in the bush — and 
you are, too ? " asked Beard, as if he needed to 
say something. 

"We 've lost them, anyhow," said Ned, break- 
ing in. " We don't know which way to turn to 
find them." 

" Tell me again about the blackfellows," said 
Beard, turning his face once more full upon 
them. It was strangely flushed, and it looked 
very red in the firelight. 

Ned Wentworth had hardly had a chance to 
talk up to that moment, and it was his turn. 
He told all there was to tell up to the beginning 
of the skirmish, but there he was interrupted. 

" Ka-kak-kia ? " exclaimed Beard. " I know 
him. He 's a friend of mine. He and his fel- 
lows would n't be half so likely to kill me as the 
others would. A blackfellow will kill anybody, 
though, if he thinks he can gain anything by it. 
You can't trust them. Well, what with white 
savages and black savages, and dingoes, these 
woods are full of wolves ! " 

" The dingoes were killing sheep at the Gram- 
])ians when we came away," said Hugh ; " but 
we did n't think of finding any blackfellows or 
bushrangers out here. Father said they were 
all gone." 

"They 're not, then," said Beard, in a hoarse, 
rasping voice. " There are six of the worst 
white villains camped within three miles of this 
very spot ! They '11 be here after us in the morn- 
ing. If they found your father's camp, they 'd 
be more dangerous than blackfellows." 



•* The) would n't attack it, would ihey?" ex- 
claimed Hugh, springing up in sudden dismay. 
" What ? .Vttack my father, and mother, and 
Helen?" 

"1 'm afraid so; and lay it to the blackfel- 
lows, or to me, if it should ever be discoveretl. 
But they would n't leave a trace of it, with the 
river close by to hide everything in. I know 
them. They 'd assert that I did it. They 've 
done that sort of thing before." 

All that Hugh and Ned could do was to look 
at each other and draw long breaths of fear and 
grief. It was a dreadful slate of affairs, and the 
man Beard put his head down on his folded 
arms and sat still for fully a minute. 

" Boys," said he at last, looking up, " we 
must n't be near this fire after daylight ; but we 
can lie down for a while now. You '11 all get 
safely out. Promise me one thing, on your word 
of honor." 

"We '11 promise," said Hugh. 

" I '11 promise anything that I ought," said 
Ned. "What is it?" 

" If I get you safe back to your own camp, 
promise not to tell how you got there. Promise 
not to say that you met me. You may tell 
your father and your mother, in confidence, 
but you are not to tell anybody else." 

They promised solemnly. 

" I have got to get out of this region, any- 
how%" said Beard ; " but I don't want anybody 
to know even that I 've been here." 

He was evidently a very queer fellow. He 
was roughly clad, wild, savage, desperate-look- 
ing, but there was something gentle and kindly 
in the way he spoke. His eyes were bloodshot, 
and his voice was hoarse, and now and then he 
showed his strong, white teeth. He said very 
Httle more, but he made the boys lie down, 
telling them to go to sleep, if they could, and 
there he sat and looked at the fire, with his 
repeating-rifle in his lap. 

" Ned," said Hugh, as they stretched out on 
their blankets under a tree, " do you believe 
you can sleep ? " 

" It seems as if I could n't do anything else," 
said Ned. "If I don't, I won't be worth a 
cent to-morrow." 

Sleep will come to over-tired boys, even if 
they try to keep their eyes open. So it was 



366 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Mar. 



that neither of them heard the man Beard 
muttering, after a while, there by the fire : 

" So it is Hugh Gordon Parry ! — and Maude, 
and Helen Gordon ! Well, my time has come. 
What on earth made them all come out here to 
be speared or clubbed in the bush ! No, I can 
save them ! I will save them, no matter what 
becomes of me ! " 

Chapter VIII. 

LOST ! 

Sir Frederick Parry's camp was astir at 
daylight the next morning. As soon as there 
was light enough to cast a line, the baronet him- 
self was fishing from the rock by the water's 
edge, and was having fair success, although 
none of the fish were large. He was evidently 
depressed, and he paid no attention to the prep- 
arations for breakfast going on at a little dis- 
tance behind him. The fire was blazing vigor- 
ously ; the camp table was already spread with 
its white cloth, its bright cutlery, its silver, and 
its china. There was also a stir in the tents, 
and before long Lady Parry came out of one 
of them, and Helen Gordon out of the other. 
Both were looking pale, and as if they had not 
rested well. 

" Oh, Aunt Maude," said Helen, "I had such 
awful dreams about Hugh and Ned ! I feel 
as if I could find them myself" 

" Poor child 1 " exclaimed Lady Parry. " You 
look pale and ill. Yes, we must find them, and 
I hope we shall find them to-day." 

Helen tried to speak again, but her voice 
seemed to fail her, and she turned away. In 
another moment her aunt was at the water-side, 
exclaiming : " Fred, where do you think the 
boys are ? We must find them I " 

" My dear," he replied consolingly, " no 
doubt we shall find them. As to getting home, 
all we have to do is to follow this river down. 
We will start as soon as we find the boys." 

" Frederick," she said, " if anything has hap- 
pened to them, I — " 

Her voice thrilled and trembled with suffer- 
ing, and there was so much angui.sh in her 
face that Sir Frederick turned away his gaze 
and replied : 

" Immediately after breakfast we will all 
search for them " — and just there he hooked 



a fish, and had an excuse for not saying any- 
thing more. 

Nevertheless, the day's work of the people in 
that camp was already cut out for them ; and so 
too for the other parties wandering in that 
forest. 

The black boy, in the shelter of a tuft of 
weeds, awoke as early as Bob McCracken 
among his horses. The boy had no breakfa.st 
to get, nor had he anything to get one with, 
for the wicked white men had robbed him of all 
his hunting-sticks. He was not discouraged, 
however, for he seemed to have a definite idea 
of the direction he should take to find his people. 

The camp of blackfellows that he set out to 
find with such a remarkable degree of energy, 
did not contain his mother or aunts or sisters, 
for it was a camp of warriors and hunters, and 
it had left all womankind in a place so far 
away that sheep-farmers, like the owner of the 
Grampians, naturally supposed that no savages 
were likely to trouble them. 

The corroboree dancers must have been fa- 
tigued, for they had danced long and late; but 
for all that they were stirring at the first dawn 
of light. They built up their fire, although 
there was not a mouthful of anything left for 
them to cook for breakfast, and neither was 
there any water for them to drink; but they 
did not seem at all disturbed by that. Soon 
after waking, they were searching among the 
trees for a " grass " or " blackboy " tree, — what 
white men would have called a " blue-gum " 
tree, or " eucalyptus." 

They found several, some old and some 
young; but they chose the latter. Each man 
began to dig with one of his sticks at about 
four or five feet from the foot of one of those 
trees. He dug down until he came to a main 
root, with fresh, succulent branches shooting 
from it. He cut off a shoot, split it, and began 
to chew it, getting water from it as if it had 
been a slice of watermelon, and soon there 
were no thirsty blackfellows in that party. 
As for eating, they had done well enough the 
day before. Their next movement was to sit 
down in a circle and hold a kind of jabber-talk 
that did not last long. They pointed at the 
( abbage-palm and across the prairie, and shook 



«893 1 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



Z^7 



their heads. Ka-kak-kia and his friends would 
not be so unwise as to stay there and be 
speared. They had gone surely, and the cor- 
roboree dancers all said so ; and they were 
entirely correct. The chief and his five follow- 
ers knew that they would be hunted after, and 
they also intended to hunt for other people, 
and so all their sticks were picked up about as 
early as they could be seen, and their owners 
were already pushing on cautiously through the 
forest, in a line that indicated they intended to 
visit the white boys' camp at the waterfall. 
If that were so, however, they were likely to 
find there a deserted camp, for not a man in 
all that bush was on his feet earlier than was 
Beard, the cave-man, and he at once awoke 
his young companions. 

Ned and Hugh had slept well, with an idea 
that they were under a sort of protection ; but 
they sprang to their feet promptly when they 
were stirred up. Then they each looked very 
hard at Beard, as if they were anxious to see 
what sort of man he might be by daylight. 

It was not quite daylight yet, but they got 
an idea of a very powerful, very rugged, wild- 
looking man, with as gloomy a face as they 
had ever seen. His voice, when he spoke to 
them, was very deep, but it was kindly enough. 

" We must have breakfast directly," he said. 
" There is no time to spare." 

" Do you think the blackfellows will follow 
us ? " asked Ned. 

"There is no doubt of it," said Beard. 
"They 're too stupid and obstinate to give up 
anything. They '11 follow a party for weeks, 
when they 've once begun the pursuit." 

" Mr. Beard," said Hugh, " how many kan- 
garoos there are in this forest ! " 

" Yes," said Beard. " As soon as the blacks 
were driven off, there was nobody to hunt 'em, 
and so their number increased. That 's what 
brings the blackfellows back again, and it brings 
the dingoes too." 

" I wonder if the big flocks of sheep don't 
partly account for there being more dingoes," 
said Hugh, soberly. " I never thought of 
that." 

" Other men have," said Beard. " Wild ani- 
mals have to eat something. The dingoes 
would disappear if they could not find food. 



He talked freely about anything and every- 
thing that lived in the woods; but every time 
either of them said or asked anything about 
himself, he evaded the question completely, and 
they could learn nothing concerning him. 

" The blackfellows may be after us," re- 
marked Ned, " but they will have some dis- 
tance to travel." 

" The white savages have n't far to go," re- 
plied licard. " I 'm more afraid of them. I 'm 
going to put you into a safe hiding-place for a 
while, and then I 'm going to scout and see 
what they 're about. I don't want you to be 
speared or shot w'hile I 'm away." 

"I quite agree with you," said Hugh; " l;ut 
we must find our camp." 

" Don't worry," replied Beard. " Let us get 
away from here first." 

The horses being quickly saddled, the boys 
mounted and set out. They took all their game 
with them, as they might need it for food. 

The six white rascals who had camped at the 
foot of the great stump were also astir early. 
While they were eating breakfast, however, 
they watched carefully the woods around them, 
and talked about blackfellows and coffee-pots. 
Not one of them had the least idea that the 
lost coffee-pot was at that moment resting 
quietly within the hollow of the enormous 
trunk beside them. 

" Tell ye what, boys," said Bill, at the end 
of a long discussion, " we have n't come away 
out here for nothing, this time. We sha'n't 
really run against any blackfellows. They 're 
shy of such a party as this is. They 've cleared 
out. We 've got to git that fellow's nuggets, 
though, — cost what it may ! " 

They decided to hunt on foot, in couples, 
and not to get so far apart from one another 
that one couple could not hear a signal-call 
from the next. 

" We '11 find him, sure," said Jim. " He 's 
built himself a cabin of some sort to live in, 
somewhere round here. I reckon it was a 
pretty safe place, too, till we tracked him." 

They set out upon their thieving scout at just 
about the time when Beard halted and said to 
Ned and Hugh : 

" Here we are, boys ! " 



368 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



[Mar. 



They had traveled several miles, and the 
morning was well advanced. 

" Now we will hide the saddles and bridles," 
he added ; " and we can put the horses where 
we can find them again. I '11 show you how 
to do that." 

Ned and Hugh hated the thought of giving 
up their horses, but their estimate of the dan- 
ger they were in had been growing all the 
way, and they dismounted. The saddles and 
bridles were easily disposed of by hanging them 
upon a scrubby sapling among some rocks 
tangled over with vines and bushes. The 
horses were led across a flat, bare ledge, on 
which their hoofs made no mark, to a \vide, 
grassy open, where they were picketed by 
Beard, to feed until they should be wanted. 

" Now, my friends," said he, " come right 
along. I am going to show you a secret that 
you must keep." 

'• I wish somebody would show us our 
camp. Oh, for a sight of father and mother 
and Helen ! " said Hugh. 

" I think I can find that easily," said Beard, 
'• as soon as the woods are clear. Your mother 
would wish you to come in alive, though. I can 
tell you that." 

It was a serious warning, and yet the great 
shadowy forest around them looked peaceful 
enough, in spite of all its wolves, four-footed or 
two-footed, white or black. 

There was one part of that forest where, 
at this time, a great deal was occurring within 
a .small space. The great towering trees — 
palms, and gum-trees, and other kinds — were 
so scattered as to make it appear almost open 
and sunny. It was very beautiful, but it was 
a deceitful beauty that concealed many dan- 
gers. Here and there were lines and clumps 
of bushes and undergrowth, that divided the 
open forest spaces into glades and lanes and 
green vistas which branched into and away from 
one another. 

Along one of these green vistas rode a man 
with head bent forward, as if he were absorbed 
in deep thought. It was Sir Frederick. 

'■ Lost ! " he exclaimed at last. '* To think 
of Ned and Hugh lost in the bush! — to die 
there of hunger and thirst, or to be killed by 
black cannibals! It is horrible!" 



Then he raised his head and looked around 
him for a moment. 

" Maude!" he called. "Come this way! You 
should not wander so far, my dear. Helen!" 

No answer came, and again he called; and 
then his face grew suddenly pale. 

" Where are they ? " he exclaimed. " In which 
direction have I been riding ? Where is my 
wife ! Helen ! Are they lost ? Am I lost ? " 
and putting his hand to his mouth, he gave 
a long, half-tremulous, and alarmed " Coo-ee-e ! 
Coo-ee-e ! Coo-ee-e ! " He ceased, and once 
more his head bent forward, almost down to 
his horse's mane. 

Sounds do not travel far among tree-trunks, 
bushes, undergrowth, and broken ridges of 
rough ground. It was not far to where a lady 
on a bay horse was leaning over, at that ver\- 
moment, to free the skirt of her flowing riding- 
habit from a branch of thorn. 

As she once more sat erect, she glanced around 
her. 

" Frederick ! " she exclaimed ; and after an- 
other moment of silence she added, in tones 
of increasing excitement, " Where is he ? He 
was in sight only a minute or so ago. Fred ! 
Am I lost — lost in the bush ? Frederick ! " 

Full, loud, frantically clear was that last 
cry for help ; but Lady Maude Parry was mis- 
taken. It had been fully five minutes since 
she had seen her husband or niece, and they 
had been galloping in different directions among 
those deceptive forest avenues. 

At the end of one of these, at the base of 
a rugged ledge of rocks, a fair- haired girl 
reined in a graceful, spirited white pony. 

" Uncle Fred and Aunt Maude will catch 
up with me in a moment," she said. " W^e 
can't hunt for Ned and Hugh any farther in 
this direction. And yet it would be terrible to 
go back to camp without them." 

She wheeled her pony as she spoke, and he 
made only a few bounds forward before he was 
again reined in, and Helen looked rapidly 
around her, 

" They 're all the same," she said unea.sily. 
'• One glade is just like another. Which of 
them did I come by ? I 'II wait for the others 
here a minute or so. If I should ride around 
I might lose myself. They '11 come." 



i893.] 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



369 



She waited, wliile lier pretty face put on an 
Uncle I'reil ! " she shouted. 



anxjous expression 

" Aunt Maude I 
half weejiing. 
" Why don't 
yt>u come ? 
It all looks 
alike. I don't 
know whicii 
way to turn ! " 

She did not 
dream that al- 
most at that 
same moment 
her uncle was 
leaning ver\ 
despairingly 
over his horse, 
nor that her 
aunt had lost 
her way in the 
maze of trees: 
but Helen's 
face put on 
an ashy pale- 
ness as she 
turned it up- 
ward. Her 
lips were mov- 
ing, too, but 
there was no 
sound to be 
heard, and all 
around her 
was the awful 
silence of the 
endless Aus- , , , , n 1 1 

tralian forest. 

Thus they remained for a while, so very near 
to each other and yet so separated, each afraid 
to move for fear of going farther away, and 
each growing sick at heart as the sense of help- 
less loneliness crept over them. 

In another direction, less than two miles dis- 
tant, a man rode excitedly into an open place, 
a camp by a little river, shouting : 

" Boys, mount again ! I 've lost track of 
them ! Sir Frederick and Lady Parry and Miss 
Helen I They 're out in the bush ! " 

Three other men sprang into their saddles, 
Vol. XX.— 24. 



shouting to each other and to the dogs; and in 
a moment more the camp was left in charge 
of some s])are horses and six mules, while its 




. M.li , '1 ' si|..:T 'COO-EE-E.'" 

keepers dashed away into the woods. Not one 
of them, however, went in the right direction 
to find any of the missing persons. 

Sir Frederick Parry was a man of firm ner\es. 
He was a cool man and brave, and now he 
reined in his horse, and reasoned calmly : 

'• I can't sit still here," he said. " I will try 
to go back along my own tracks. There, I 
can see the hoof-marks, if I ride slowly. The 
worst of it is that a blackfellow may see them 
better than I can ! I /nust find them ! " 

His wife also was riding onward, but she was 



370 



THE WHITE CAVE. 



not looking for any trail. She was trying to 
guess her way, and every now and then she 
sent out a plaintive " Coo-ee-e ! " 

Again, — again, — again, — and each time she 
paused and listened, painfully; but no answer 
came back to her from the leafy silence. Lady 
Maude burst into a fit of weeping that made 
her tremble from head to foot. 

Helen was only so far away that she could 
not hear, and she, too, attempted, time after 
time, to shout "Coo-ee-e"; but it seemed to her 
as if her husky, frightened voice could hardly 



have startled a bird that she saw rise from a 
wide-branching tree be\ond her. 

" No one could hear it," she said to herself. 
" Even if there were blackfellows in the woods, 
they could not hear such a weak Uttle call. 
They would not know I am here. How hor- 
rible it would be to see one of them ! " 

She seemed to find rehef also in urging her 
pretty pony to a brisk gallop that carried her 
farther yet from the friends who were looking 
for her, and for whom she was so earnestly 
searching. 



( To be continued. ) 




Cbe Old Doll totkNedjOne. 



^Bli^ % W'^ 




V 



So you 're the latest victim — no, 
I beg to make polite correction — 

You 're Dot's new doll, of course, and so 
You have a beautiful complexion. 

It 's very easy. Miss, to praise 

Those blushing cheeks, for one supposes 
You ^ve not been placed before a blaze 

That mixed your lilies with your roses. 

You 've not been toasted for an hour. 
To teach you beauty 's a delusion ; 



By Felix Leigh. 



You 've yet to learn that fire has power 
To leave one's features in confusion. 

Your form 's as trim as trim can be; 

Your share of sawdust 's not denied you; 
No one 's unpicked your seams to see 

Just what it was you had inside you. 

You 've all your hair on, light as tow; 

You 've both your eyes, of blue most tender; 
You \'e not been scalped, and well I know 

You 've not been dropped ui)on the fender. 

Your squeak 's not broken, I '11 be bound ; 

You 're not condemned your woes to mutter. 
When you are banged about, a sound 

Of protest you can shrilly utter. 

But wait a little while, my dear; 

You '11 not escape the fate of others. 
Stoop ! let me whisper in your ear — 

Dot, you luusf know, has tjco small brothers/ 



My Aunt Aurorex's 

Reticule. 




Bv Lillian L. Price. 



"Thee 's traveling. Then she wore it, and bonny she 

laughing at looked in it. 

my reticule, 'T was on their journey homeward that they 

child Alice," turned in their nags at our cedars, one night at 

said Grandma, twilight, while I stood in my garden watching 

spreading it out my primroses open, 
on her lap as she " Thee 's welcome. Aunt Aurora," I cried, 

lifted the wide bag from the cedar chest and well pleased to catch sight of her sweet, rosy 

tenderly stroked its faded green satin. " Dear, face and sparkling brown eyes. Father hastened 

dear '. — how well I remember putting in that out to lift her from her saddle, and then he and 

bead-work! 'T was for my aunt Aurora that I Uncle Jacob exchanged soberest greetings. 
made it. 'T was only as a task that I did stitch- I hastened to draw my aunt into the house, 

ing; for, being a Friend, I held not to gewgaws, and take off her cloak and bonnet. '"T is a 

Nay, old bag, thee was bonny when thee was twelvemonth since I have seen thee I " I cried, 

new ! See, it is an ample bag. We held to " Thee 's good to look at. Aunt Aurora ; and 

plenty of space in those days. And never, while yea, what does thee think ! I have finished the 

memory serves, shall I forget the reticule's first reticule! " 

journey. 'T was not to a Philadelphia assembly, " Has thee finished it ? " laughed my aunt, 

with my aunt Aurora's purple square-toed slip- "Indeed! Why, thee 's a marvelous industrious 

pers and gorgeous dancing-fan stowed away in child! Thee 's been at this only two years." 
it, — though I dare say it traveled that way " Yea," I answered shamefacedly; " but thee 

often enough, — but 't was a gruesome journey, knows beads are troublous things to chain. I 

the like to make thine ears to tingle. Come, I got them into a sore pucker, often and often." 
must tell thee of it." " 'T is a bit of folly," quoth my father, eying 

it humorously. 
My uncle Jacob was of the world's people, " 'T is a beauty," said Aunt Aurora. " Marry, 

but my aunt Hannah — that was my father's but I think 't will e'en carry my best new bon- 

sister — was a strict Friend. My uncle Jacob was net." 

an iron-master, and 't was a grievous wrong to " Of course thee will stay the night at our 

our people, and especially to my aunt Hannah, house, Jacob ? " said my father, 
that he had made gun-castings for a man-o'- " Nay," replied Uncle Jacob, " I have a sum 

war lying in Delaware Bay, and had taken of money to place in a man's hands at ten o' the 

moneys for them. So he carried his young sis- morning to-morrow. The business is urgent, — 

ter Aurora with him when he journeyed to Red 't is a crisis of the man's affairs, — and I must not 

Bank to receive the moneys of certain merchants lag. We but stopped to try your tea-cakes and 

there. 'T was a chance for her to get at Red beg that you lend us Hannah. She can safely 

Bank some bonnets and fripperies in the New ride behind me, and Aurora wants her." 
York modes, she not being content with the The thought of a visit to my uncle's great 

Friends' garb save when she was on horseback house set my heart a-dancing. 

37"! 



o/- 



MV AUNT AURORA S RETICULE. 



[Mar. 



" Indeed I must have my promised fortnight's 
\-isit from Hannah," urged my aunt, " now that 
she can travel secure in our company." 

" Nay," said my father, " not so secure. 
Jacob, thee knows the risk thee runs travehng 
the pine-woods at night. Stay till morning." 

" As safe by night as day in those long, lonely 
stretches," returned my uncle. " And my busi- 
ness must be carried." 

" My I thee 's a rash man," cried my father ; 
" for not only does thee cast the implements of 
war instead of the pruning-hooks of peace, but 
thee ventures into the pine- woods thickly bestead 
with highway robbers, when thee has moneys 
of great value upon thee." 

'• Tush, Brother I I can shoot and ride ; and 
Aurora's shot is as true as mine." 

" But the highwayman shoots from covert. 
Leave the women, and I will lead them over 
to-morrow myself." 

'• Nav," said my aunt Aurora, firmly, to this. 
" Brother rides not alone to-night. But say, 
Hannah, is thee frightened to go?" 

" Does thee want to go ? " asked my father. 

" Oh, I do most truly 1 " I said, a great long- 
ing seizing me. 

" See," said my uncle. He showed us the 
broad seam in the lining of his loose great- 
coat. Inside it lay a deep silk pouch, and flat 
within that a chamois pouch containing the 
money. " If we are waylaid, there 's a bag o' 
silver bits in the saddle-bags which I will fling 
them, and then whip and spur will carry us be- 
yond their reach." 

" So thee says," said my father. " Hannah, 
thee must decide. Will thee go ? " 

I glanced from Aunt Aurora to the moon 
turning from silver to gold in the pale evening 
sky and sheening the pine-woods. Then I 
looked at our cozy supper-table, where I was 
mistress, and thought on the home safety. 

" Gyp has seven young puppies," said my 
aunt Aurora, alluringly. 

" Oh, if thee pleases, Father, I would e'en 
like to go!" I decided, forgetting highwaymen 
as I thought of the kennels. 

After supper I ran about, getting ready. 
" If thee takes me. Aunt Aurora, thee must take 
Boskie," I cried, stooping to lift him from his 
basket and smoothing his silky locks. Boskie 



was m)- little Skye terrier, my only playmate 
and friend. " I cannot leave Boskie," I said. 

" And what with saddle-bag and bandbox, 
l)ray, where shall Boskie be stowed ? " laughed 
my aunt. " I think he must e'en ride in the 
bottom of my new silk reticule. There he 
can cuddle as snug as a bee in thistledown. 
What? — has thee a blanket for Boskie? And 
a pocket in it for his collar? Thee 's a little 
old maid ! But come, my girlie ; we must 
hurry to saddles, while the moon is high. We 
shall need its light in the pine-woods." 

'T was a calm night of midsummer. The 
moonlight silvered everything. Far to east- 
ward through the silence came the sound of 
the sea. My father most reluctantly bade fare- 
well to his little housekeeper, and we rode se- 
dately away. The night air in the village was 
sweet with dewy odors of rose, and honey- 
suckle, and faint musk, which gave place to 
heavy warm pine scents as we entered the sil- 
ver dusk of the woods. I leaned against my 
uncle's broad back, and occasionally chirruped 
to Boskie, who lay snuggled in the bottom of 
my aunt Aurora's reticule, which had one 
string unloosed and dangling down, so that he 
might get the air. And so we rode for hours. 
Then my aunt's horse lagged behind a little. 

" Brother," she said, with an odd little trem- 
ble in her voice. " Shall we return to An- 
thony's ? ' Star ' has a stone in one hoof. She 
limps now." 

" Aurora I " he exclaimed in dismay. Then : 
" Ah, well, perha])s we shall ride through scot- 
free, in spite of all our terrors. Nay, we must 
ride on. There be strange doings in these 
woods," he continued musingly. " I am little 
minded to lose treasure to these Jersey high- 
waymen; but duty is duty, and risk is risk. 
At most they will only rob us." 

" And then what will your creditor do ? " 

" I will sell mine own land to make restitu- 
tion," he answered. 

Boskie whined softly in his bag. He was 
lying against the i)ommel of my aunt's saddle 
for a rest. 

" Give him to me," I cried, reaching my 
hands over for him ; but even my fingers strok- 
ing his head would not soothe him. " He is 
too warm in his blanket," I said. " Nay, Bos- 



1893] 



MY AUNT aurora's RETICULP:. 



Z7?, 



k.c, what alls thee? What docs thcc hear ? " thought. My uncle's horse whinnied and 
1 questioned, as he continued Iiis whining. shied, and I, cHnging to him in sheer terror 
At this my uncle sprang down and halted saw standing about us the threatening figures 
both liorses. 1 he silence was oppressive; not of the highwaymen. 

a sound broke across the night song of insects. Sooth, they were a bold, perilous gang to 
He left us, with his pistols in his hands, to rer- meet with in such a place. 
onnoiter a few 
yards ahead. 
I was unbuck- 
ling Boskie's 
blanket. My 
aunt Aurora 
leaned over to 
me and said, 
" Do not take 
it off, dear. 
Thee 's deft- 
handed, Han- 
nah. See, bro- 
ther has left 
his coat Iving 
on the horse. 
Slip the money 
into the pocket 
of the blanket, 
and strap it 
close. Haste, 
my sweeting ! 
They will not 
seek for mo- 
neys in such 
a place. For 
we shall surely 
be searched," 
she added with 
a sigh. ]\Iy 
hand shook, 
but I did her 
bidding swift- 
ly; and while 
I did so big 
hot tears fell 




'LET ME pass!' CRIED MY UNCLE, POINTING HIS PISTOLS. 



upon Boskie's coat, and I yearned unspeak- 
ably for my little white bed at home. 

My uncle examined Star's foot, and re- 
mounted. " Ride most cautiously," he said. 

His tone seemed to seal our doom, so sad was 
It. My frightened heart went pit-a-pat, and 
every tree-trunk loomed ghostly and grim. 

But truly they were upon us before we 



" Let me pass ! This is the king's highway," 
cried my uncle, stoutly braving them, and point- 
ing his pistols. 

"What 's your business?" asked the chief 
robber, who stood coolly facing them. 

"That 's as little to you as I would yours 
were to me," answ^ered my uncle. "You see 
me here protecting my two women. And I 



374 

will even do just that," he added. " Stand oft" 
and let us go." 

" Can this be Jacob Foulke ? " was asked. 

"Jacob Foulke was to ride alone," said a 
voice. "We '11 lose him a-loitering here." 

A low sob broke from me as I shrank be- 
hind my uncle. 1 thought of a surety my hour 
was come, and the idea was sore and new to 
me, being so softly bred. There was a burring 
sound of private talk about us. 

" We must have your pelf and your ladies' 
jewels," said the robbers ; " and then ride as 
you will. Will ye give up, or be searched ? " 

" You 're a rascally scoundrel," cried my un- 
cle, angrily. ,He clicked his pistol, and moved 
his spurred boot restlessly across the horse's 
ribs. "Alas, Star hath no gait ! " he mut- 
tered, looking to where my aunt sat motionless. 
She saw that we were surrounded by gleaming 
pistol-mouths. 

" Let them search us," she decided, laying a 
calming hand on my angry uncle. 

Stout hands and a many of them led us hel- 
ter-skelter through brake and bramble to an 
open place where gleamed a great fire of 
pitchy logs burning in the soft darkness; for 
the moon was setting. We were fain to dis- 
mount, and 't was with great disgust and disap- 
pointment that one robber called out, " These 
women be Quakers ! " 

" But what hath the little maid hugged tight 
there in the silk bag ? " cried another. 

" So please you, sir, it is only my little dog, 
my little pet dog 1 " I pleaded, holding to him, 
and forgetting in the danger which threatened 
him the greater danger to my uncle's money. 
The man grasped him roughly by the skin, but 
Boskie did not bark, only cried most piteously. 
Then they flung him aside and turned the reti- 
cule inside out. They slit the fine stitched lin- 
ing. See, here be the mended places. And 
then they fell to, on saddle-bags and band- 
boxes. There was a reckless turning out o' 
gear such as made my aunt Aurora wince, es- 
pecially as she had with her the new bonnets, 
in the latest New York mode of fashion, fresh 
brought over by ship from London. 

My uncle blanched and struggled when they 
pulled off his coat to search it. I can e'en see 
his white face yet, and the look in his eyes. 



MY AUNT AURORA S RETICULE. 



[Mar. 



when Aunt Aurora called to him in a ringing 
tone, " Brother, you must throw your coat into 
the fire!" And seeing him unwilling, what did 
my intrepid aunt, but dart under the ruffians' 
arms, — they grasping the coat loosely, for their 
great surety of it, — and seizing the garment she 
flung it into the very heart of the blazing fire, 
where no one durst touch it. It burned 
bravely. 

In the hubbub of rage which followed, she 
stood silent and unwavering, while my uncle 
said sadly, "Aurora, that was rash. I might 
have compromised." They took the new sil- 
ver tea-pot bought for Aunt Hannah, and the 
bag o' silver bits. 

" Mayhap th' maids ha' siller in their shoon," 
bawled a thick voice. 

My aunt Aurora dropped instantly to the 
turf, and pulling off her shoes flung them at 
him. They tore off the good silver buckles. 
Mine, too, they demanded; and I yielded them 
up reluctandy, being fond of what small tog- 
gery I possessed. But I managed to catch up 
Boskie, and smuggle him into the reticule again. 

At last one of the robbers called out: " Lads, 
let be ! We ha' what plunder these Quaker 
folk ha' not burned up for us ; they be a queer 
kind o' Quakers, too, that spend their fairin' in 
bonnet gear ! But clear the way o' them. We 
ha' other work to-night." 

Then they let us go, and scarcely could I 
breathe for the anxious throbbing of my heart 
as I felt my uncle's strong arm lift me to the 
saddle-seat, with Boskie in the reticule, and the 
money safe ! 

My uncle spake not a word, but with a 
birchen withe (for the robbers had filched his 
riding-whip) he urged the horses forward as well 
as lie could, considering Star's lame foot. He 
glanced ever behind him, knowing too well 
that he was Jacob Foulke, and fearing pursuit, 
while my aunt Aurora's gaze strained to east- 
ward, praying for the dawn. 

Never was its rosy flush sweeter than when 
it crept at last over the eastern sea. 'T was 
only then that we felt safe, and turning aside 
into the hamlet of Squan we sought its tavern. 
The inn was clo.sely shuttered, and the inmates 
were wrapped in sleep. Stiff and aching, my 
aunt Aurora and I were lifted down to the 



'893] 



MY AUNT AURORAS RETICULK 



375 



square roil bricks of the porch, while a sleepy 
hostler came blinking to take the horses. 

I was faint and giddy as I leaned against 
a pillar, while my uncle began bitterly to be- 
moan his short-sightedness in taking the jour- 
ney. " I have even lost all my moneys, anil 
brought thee through a dreadful night ! " he 
exclaimed. 

A smile broke over my aunt Aurora's face. 
She had taken a seat on a settle near the fire, 
where she sat thrusting her tumbled curls under 
her bonnet. 

" Truly, thee might have fared sorely had 
thee left us behind, brother; for then surely 
they had known thee to be the Jacob Foulke 
whom they expected. And thee has naught 
to be angry for that I flung that coat on the 
fire. 'T was but the price of a coat. Thee 
looks surprised. And did thee truly think the 
money was burned ? Nay, nay ! Hannah, give 
me Boskie. See, brother, how useful a little 



dog may be ! A little dog in a reticule I " and, 
laughing, she handed him the money. 

The landlord, with candle and night-cap, 
came stunribling out to see who claimed his 
hos|)itality thus early. 

** W hat ! thou ? " he cried, recognizing my 
uncle with astonishment. " So thou and thy 
women ha' rid .safe through the robbers' wood, 
and at night ! What mercy saved ye ? " 

" Partly," said my uncle gravely, " this lit- 
tle dog, that traveled in a green silk reticule; 
and by your leave he '11 take a sup o' milk and 
the best pickings of a bone." 

And so the debt-money was saved and paid, 
and later on I was more than happy with Gyp's 
seven puppies cuddled in my lap. Boskie had 
the bonniest collar that could be found in all 
the city of New York. — But oh, he died long, 
long years since, my dear little Boskie; and 
this is all I have left of that gone time, — this 
queer, faded old silk reticule. 




M^7 




'^^'^'X^l'^^.S 




A QLEER PLANT - 



OK THK CAT-TAIL VARIETY. 



■ -^^^- 




THE ARCH OF LILIES. 



A TOURNAMENT OF ROSES. 



By Charles Frederick Holder. 



" Why, it is raining roses ! " 

So exclaimed a little girl from the East, who 
stood lost in amazement on one of the em- 
bowered avenues of the town of Pasadena, in 
Southern California. 

A few days before she had been blockaded 
in a snow-storm in New Mexico, and now, with 
many more children, she looked up and down 
the avenue that was white with roses, callas, 
and other flowers. The air itself was filled with 
roses and rose-buds, thrown aloft by little 
hands, and falling to strew the pathway of the 
President. The sides of the street were lined 
with children, each child bearing baskets or 
bouquets of flowers from their gardens, or from 
the flowery fields which stretch away from the 
crown of the San Gabriel Valley. 



Such a scene was hardly suggestive of war, 
yet part of this floral exhibition was called a 
" Battle of Roses." The first gun was fired 
when up the avenue came a huge old-fash- 
ioned coach — the kind used in California in the 
days of real stage-coaching, and a giant among 
vehicles. 

From top to bottom the entire coach was 
bedecked with flowers, and filled the air with 
fragrance that vied with the odor of the orange- 
blossoms from the groves on every side.* The 
sjjokes of the wheels were covered with calla- 
lilies. One little boy gave twelve hundred of 
these beautiful lilies to be used in various deco- 
rations. The interior of the coach was lined 
with the broad leaves of the fan-palm, the back 
was a solid mass of daisies, and the chains sup- 



The first three illustrations for this article are drawn from photographs by C. J. Crandall and L. K. Jarvis, 

Pasadena, Cal. 

376 



A TOURNAMENT OK ROSES. 377 

porting the phittunn lor baggage were wound set — all these varieties were there, antl a host 

about with cyj)ress and i)inks. 'I'he railing on of other choice roses, 

top was alnn)st hidden by choice roses of every As the four-in-hand dashed u\> the avenue, it 

hue, while the "boot" and other portions of drew the fire of the hundreds of children stand- 

the «)ld coat h were also lavishly ilecorateil. ing in line, and volleys were given and returned 

From the wimlows peeped young and happy until the air was filled with roses. 

faces, the soldiers of this chariot of war, while The first obstruction was a gate built across 

on the top sat several young ladies and gentle- the street. It was some twelve feet high, a solid 

men. The driver held the reins of four spirited mass of calla-lilies, and opened by two little 

horses, all wearing belts of jingling sleigh-bells, maidens only upon the payment of a floral toll, 

and beautifully caparisoned with garlands and No sooner was the toll settled than away sprang 

bouquets. the horses, to be again pelted with blossoms. 

At the word the horses sprang forward, and And so the old coach went on its way until 




ONE OF THE CHILDREN S TLRNOLTS. 



the new War of the Roses began. The bugler 
on the coach sounded the alarm, and the 
soldiers within and on top of the coach made 
ready their weapons — great baskets of roses. 
What a wealth of shot and shell ! Marechal 
Niel, Gold of Ophir, Jacqueminot, Black Prince, 
La France, Duchesse de Brabant, Bride, Sun- 



it joined the procession ot the President, — de- 
lighting the children, big and little, and con- 
tinuing the floral campaign. 

After such an exhibition Southern California 
might well claim to be the Land of Flowers, 
as during all the months that are winter months 
in the East, nearly as brilliant a display can be 



37' 



A TOURNAMENT OF ROSES. 



[Mar. 



made. The '' Tournament of Roses " is given 
every year; it might be called a floral thanks- 
giving, as the idea which suggested the festival 
was the coming of the winter flowers and the 
ripening of the oranges. It is essentially a chil- 
dren's day; and the young folks are encouraged 
to take part in it. For weeks beforehand the 
tournament is talked of, and the fortunate 



of Ceremonies. The band plays gaily, and 
they wend their way to the park, where the 
tournament is to be held. The grand stand is 
already packed with men, women, and children, 
and in front is a heaping pile of oranges and 
flowers, free to all. Finally the Master of 
Ceremonies rings a bell, the young folks stand 
back, and the track is cleared. The first event 




A TINY TANDEM. 



owners of pony-carriages and carts are vying 
with one another in the elaboration of designs 
to compete for the prizes offered to the vehicles 
showing the most beautiful and artistic floral 
decoration. Prizes are given also for the various 
races of ponies, horses, and burros, — one prize 
being for the last burro to arrive in a sio7u race. 
Finally the day — the first of the new year — 
arrives. Early in the morning the procession 
forms. The boys and girls on horseback, their 
steeds garlanded with flowers, join the Master 



is a revival of an old Italian and Spanish sport, 
played in the fifteenth century, and known as 
"tilting at the rings." Rings a little larger than 
a napkin-ring are suspended at intervals over 
the course, and the "knights" charge upon them 
at full speed, endeavoring to carry off as many 
rings on their long lances as they can. The 
one taking the greatest number is declared the 
victor. Shouts and cheers greet the knights, 
some of whom often are descendants of the 
oldest Spanish families in the State. 



1893. 



A TOURNAMENT OF ROSES. 



79 



Next comes the hurdle-race, or fence-jump- 
ing, by fine California thoroughbreds. " Can it 
be, as I have heard, that a calla-lily hurdle is 
used ? " we have heard asked. Quite possi- 
ble, for the men now drag across tlie track a 
veritable hedge of the white flowers — to East- 
em eyes the most remarkable hurdle a horse 
ever jumped. The bell rings, and away go the 
racers. They clear the hurdle in graceful leaps, 
and sweep past the grand stand with a clatter 
of hoofs and a jangle of silver trappings from 
the old Mexican saddles, spurs, and bits. 

The third event is a race in which the young 
folks are particularly interested. Two fine 
greyhounds — " Mouse," whose picture has been 
shown you in St. 
Nicholas,* and her 
grandson, " Junior " 
— have challenged 
the fastest race- 
horse in Pasadena. 
Mouse is bedecked 
with a huge collar of 
red geraniums (the 
" colors" of the club 
to which she be- 
longs), and looks up, 
blinking and winking 
very hard, as much 
as to say, " I have 
run away from this 
horse on many a 
hunt, and I don't 
propose to be de- 
feated before all 
these people." 

All is ready. The track on both sides is 
crowded with eager faces. " Go ! " shouts the 
starter. Around comes the race-horse, " Daisy," 
and as she crosses the line with hardly a 
glance at her old companions, Mouse and 
Junior are slipped, and they dash away amid a 
chorus of cheers and shouts. The horse skims 
along like a bird, but close beside her are the 
two dogs, moving like machines. Around the 
course they go. Junior ahead, barking and 
thinking it great sport, while old Mouse hangs 
at the quarter, looking up every few moments 
to see why Daisy does not go faster. Louder 
grow the shouts as the competitors pass around 

* See St. Nicholas 



the great circle. Boys and girls crowd upon 
the track, and the cry goes up that the dogs are 
ahead. A moment later, horse and dogs come 
rushing across the line, the latter well in ad- 
vance. .\s every one knows that the fastest 
horse cannot run away from a greyhound, the 
defeat of Daisy is considered no disgrace. 

Whether Mouse will take part in another 
tournament is a cjuestion, since she now has 
" a family of young Mice," as a little neighbor 
calls the tan-and-mouse-colored puppies, which 
promise to run in some of the tournaments of 
the future, no doubt greatly to the credit of 
their mother. 

While the dogs are being congratulated and 




RIDING AT THE RINGS WITH THE LANCE. 



the kennel of fox-hounds beneath the grand 
stand is howling and baying a welcome, the 
open space within the track is cleared for the 
polo-teams, and for an hour they give an ex- 
citing exhibition of their manly sport. 

Then comes the " slow race " between a score 
or more burros, all of pensive mien, all mounted 
by their young owners. Each little rider is de- 
termined to be the last in, and so win the prize. 

" Go I " shouts the starter. Clang! rings the 
bell, up rise many pairs of long ears, and the 
cavalcade is off amid loud shouts of laughter. 
One shaggy old burro develops remarkable 
slowness from the very start. His little hoofs 
for Xovember, 1889. 



-,8o 



A TOURNAMENT OF ROSES. 



[Mar. 




THE HLRDLE RACE BETWEEN HORSE AND GREYHOL'ND. 



are lifted deliberately, and placed upon the While the burros have been contending for 
ground with a leisure that marks the little fel- the last place, the targets of another ancient 
low as the winner of the prize; and so it proves, sport — one that was played in London during 
for not until all the others are in does this very the time of Henry III., and by the Spanish and 
sedate racer reach the winning-post. Itahans years before — have been placed in po- 

sition. The game was 
called " Quintain " in 
olden days, and pic- 
tures of it are found 
in many faded manu- 
scripts. In Pasadena 
it was played on horse- 
back, — the " knights " 
(among them " Don 
Arturo Bandini ") rid- 
ing past the target at 
full speed, and hurling 
their javelins. Their 
skill in horsemanship 
and in directing the 
darts presented a most 
interesting spectacle. 

It would be impos- 
sible to describe here 
all the events of this 
HORSEMAN HURLING THE JAVELIN. Toumamcnt of Roses. 





A, 






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V v-7 


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.M-$-.. ... 



1893.] 



A TOURNAMENT OF ROSES. 



;8i 



There were races for farmer boys upon ram li luing with l)clls of a big white tlower, and upon 
horses, races by Httle girls on tlower-ilecorateil tlie back were the initials of the words "Tour- 
ponies. There was the tug of war between nament of Roses," in different colored roses, 
rival teams from neighboring towns; a game Other carriages were trimmed with the abun- 
for the boys, in which long lines of oranges dant California holly-berries, or the fern-like 
formed a feature; and a revival of many old pepper-tree and its bunches of bright red ber- 
sports, — a jirogram that gratified not only the ries, while others were ornamented with the 
thousands of American spectators, but also the golden wild-poppy, the State flower. 
Sjjanish and Mexican residents of the sur- The day, though in the middle of the " win- 
rounding country. ter months," is here warm and beautiful. Snow 
There was an exhibition of diminutive tan- there is, but it remains high on the distant 
dems, with equally small dog-carts in which sat mountains, like a restless giant, eager but afraid 
children surrounded by flowers. Some of the to pounce down upon the orange-groves and 
carriages bore fanciful tlower designs. One was flower-tields of the summer-land below. 



THE VERSATILE VIOLIN. 




By Tudor Jenks. 



Behold me!" cried the Violin; 
" I have such harmonies within 
As make the eye of beauty dim. 

I make men smile, I bid them weep, 
I rouse their pride, or lull to sleep 
The children with a twilight hymn 
From bird-song sw-eet to thunder- 
roll 
I voice the universal soul. 
Let but a master sweep the 

strings — 
I wake to all celestial 
things ! " 



" 'T is true," remarked the Piccolo, 
" Your scope is very wide, I know. 
But when your owner's little boy 
Decides to take you for his toy, 
You glide from weird, heart-rending shriek 
To every form of ghastly squeak, — 
The saw-file note, the porker's squeal. 
The agony of ungreased wheel, 
The grit of pencil upon slate, — 
Indeed, your repertory 's great ! " 




BRUIN AND THE PORCUPINE. 



By e. ^^^ Kemble. 




BRUIN : " Nothing like this for solid enjoyment. Your favorite book, and fling yourself down upon one of these gentle 
little grassy mounds. How few can rise to the beauty of such a scene — ! " 




THE "grassy mound": " But ^<»w can ! " 
382 



THE THREE CARAVELS OF COLUMBUS. 



By John M. Vaaacott, U. S. N. 



In the days of Columbus vessels were gener- 
ally called " caravels," and if of considerable 
size for those times they were called by the 
Spaniards naos. 

When Queen Isabella determined to help 
Columbus to make his voyage, a royal order 
was sent to the city of Palos to fit out three 
caravels and to place them at the royal disposal. 
The city made a pretense of comjilying, but it 
was so well known that the ships were for Co- 
lumbus's hazardous venture into the terrible 
western ocean that neither money nor force 
could get them ecjuipped and manned. Over 
and over again tlae people were assembled in 
the ])ublic square and the order read with great 
pomp, but all in vain. Columbus, in his de- 
spair, begged that the prisons be opened and 
the convicts allowed to go with him. Finally, 
a ship-owner of Palos, Martin Alonso Pinzon, 
was induced, by an offer of a large share of the 
rewards in case of discoveries, to make an ac- 
tive effort to fit out the expedition. He was 
a popular sea-captain and a vigorous man of 
business, and it was entirely due to him that 
Columbus was able to set sail from Palos 
on his ever-memorable voyage. Pinzon con- 
demned two of the caravels given by the town, 
and substituted two stanch \essels of his own. 
One was a decked vessel of three hundred tons, 
large enough to be called a nao, and the other 
was a little thing with lateen sails, which was 
chosen on account of her light draught, in case 
rivers had to be ascended in the country they 
expected to discover. The f/ao was at first 
named the " Gallega," but they renamed her 
the " Santa Maria." Columbus took her for 
his flag-ship, for he held an admiral's commis- 
sion from Ferdinand and Isabella. The litde 
lateen-rigged caravel was called the " Nina." 
Of the three caravels offered by the town of 
Palos, the only one which Pinzon considered 
seaworthy enough to accept was the " Pinta," 



a boat about half as large as the Santa Maria, 
and rigged like her. His shrewdness in re- 
jecting the others was fully proved before the 
expedition reached the Canaries; for it was 
discovered that the Pinta had been tampered 
with, and had been purposely weakened. A 
long delay in the islands was necessary to re- 
pair her. 

Such were the vessels in which Columbus 
discovered America : one as large as a small 
schooner, and the other two about the size of 
hghters. Had he suspected the length of his 
journey, or known of the terrible storms which 
can rage in the Atlantic Ocean, he never would 
have dared to venture out in craft so frail. 
They were so badly rigged that it was only be- 
fore a favorable wind that they could sail at all; 
but the time had come for the Old World to dis- 
cover the existence of the New, and an all-wise 
Providence guided Columbus in every way for 
the best both going and coming. He embarked 
in August, at a season when fair winds blow 
steadily from Spain to the Canaries. From 
there the regular northeast trades blew him 
straight to his destination, and he reached San 
Salvador in October, after the disastrous West 
Indian cyclones were over. He started back 
in January, and, being unable to sail against 
the trades, was forced to the northward until 
caught in the westerly winds and gales of the 
winter season in the North Atlantic, and these 
drove him homeward to the Azores and to 
Lisbon. He made this return trip in the little 
Nina, which had been square-rigged at the 
Canaries on the outward voyage. His flag- 
ship, the Santa Maria, had been wrecked by 
striking a reef on the coast of Hayti. The 
Pinta, with Pinzon, got back to Spain some 
time after Columbus's arrival in Lisbon; for 
the two caravels had been separated in a gale 
before reaching the Azores. 

At the World's Fair will be three caravels 



383 



l84 



THE THREE CARAVELS OF COLUMBUS. 



[Mar. 



exactly like the three of Columbus's expedi- 
tion, — the same size, the same rig, the same 
gear and guns and finishings ; painted the 
same colors and 
flying the same 
flags. So if you 
go there, you 
can judge for 
yourselves what 
a foolhardy and 
marvelous thing 
it seemed to sail 
thousands of 
miles away into 
that unknown 
ocean in such 
little, clumsy 
vessels. 

The new Santa 
Maria, and the 
Pinta and Xina, 
have been built 
in Spain for the 
Fair. The Santa 
Maria was built 

in Cadiz by the Spanish government, and is 
now manned by Spanish naval officers and 
sailors. They are going to sail her over 



Pinta and Nina were built at Barcelona by 
the Spaniards, but the United States paid for 
them, and when they were finished they were 




THE CARAVEL PINTA. 




THK CARAVEL NINA. 



almost the same route which Columbus sailed, 
until they reach Havana, but a Spanish gun- 
boat will go along to look out for her. The 



put in commission as United States men-of-war, 
and each was manned by two naval officers and 
eight sailors from the United States steamer 
" Bennington." The Benning- 
ton towed them to Huelva. 
Then, during the celebration 
of the landing of Columbus 
in America on the 12th of 
October (which the Queen 
Regent of Spain and the little 
boy-king attended), all three 
of the caravels were anchored 
near the convent of La 
Rabida, just where their ori- 
ginals had ridden at anchor 
on the morning Columbus 
went on board to sail away 
on his voyage of discovery. 
After the celebration they 
were all three taken to Cadiz, 
to await a favorable month 
for going acro.ss the Atlantic. 
The Pinta and Nina will be towed across by 
the United States steamer Bennington, going 
over the route of Columbus's voyage. At 



ji3»r'"''_ 



1893-1 



Tin: IlIRKK CARAVKLS OF COLUMBUS. 



385 



Havana both will lie prc^cniccl 10 the Span- is Columbus's own flag, bearing a large green 

ish Government. Then, in charge of the Span- cross. On the sails of the Santa Maria and 

iards, all three will be taken from Havana to I'inta are painted big red crosses, and the 

the St. Lawrence Rix er, up the St. Lawrence, stripes around all the vessels are bright reds, 

and through the canals to the World's Fair whites, and blues. The hulls in general are 

at Chicago. simply covered with tar, giving them a rich 

The pictures shown are drawn from photo- mahogany color, 

graphs of these three new caravels; so that even Do not fail to see these strange ships if you 









n 



THE SANIA MARIA — THE IT.AGSIIII' OV COIA^H;^>S FLEET. 



if Columbus could have photographed his own 
ships, you could hardly have had truer pictures 
of them. On the Santa Maria are the flags 
and banners of Columbus's time. At the main- 
mast-head is the royal standard, with the quar- 
tered arms of Castile and Leon. At the fore 



go to the Fair, for you will never get a true 
idea of the courage and daring of Columbus 
or of the almost superhuman greatness of his 
eftbrt until you see with your own eyes how- 
clumsy and fragile were the ships in which he 
crossed the stormiest of all oceans. 



Vol. XX. 



THE ROAD TO YESTERDAY. 



BV JULli: M. LiPPMANN. 



Will some wise man who has journeyed 

Over land and over sea 
To the countries where the rainbow 

And the glorious sunsets be, 
Kindly tell a little stranger 

\\'ho has oddly lost her way, 
Where 's the road that she must travel 

To return to Yesterday? 

For, you see, she 's unfamiliar 
With To-day, and cannot read 

What its strange, mysterious sign-posts 
Tell of ways and where they lead. 



And her heart upbraids her sorely, 
Though she did not mean to stray 

When she fell asleep last evening 
And abandoned Yesterday. 

For she left a deal neglected 

That she really should have done; 
And she fears she 's lost some favors 

That she fairly might have won. 
So she 'd Hke to turn her backward 

To retrieve them if she may, — 
Will not some one kindly tell her 

Where 's the road to Yesterday? 




LISTENING TO THE " DCGAnOO " STORY. 
386 




•istmft5 -Slocfci 




(.1 'J'nii- Slorv of CItrislntas in Rhi-rStiert.) T 



will surprise you to hear that Ted 
was eight years old before he ever 
hung up his stocking or knew an\- 
thing about Santa Claus. The reason 
for this sad state of things was that 
Ted lived 'way down town in River 
street. Santa Claus does not go to 
that part of the city, — that is, he did not go 
before Ted was eight years old. It happened 
then that some young college women moved 
into No. lo, and Ted went to call upon them. 
Many children called, played games, and read 
picture-books, and some belonged to " clubs " 
at this house. They told Ted about it, and he 
followed as soon as he could walk so far on 
his crutch. 

It was easy now for him to go quite fast, be- 
cause he had had his crutch a long time ; he 
could hardly remember when he did not need 
it. The \-ery first thing he did remember was 
lying in a white bed, not at all like his own bed 
at home, and soon after he began to use his 
crutch, and was always left behind by the other 
children running to fires and to the police-sta- 
tion. After a while he could go faster, but he 
often lost his breath and had to sit down to 
rest, so he passed much of his time alone, and 
did not grow big and strong. In fact, he was 
the very thinnest and smallest boy of his age 
on River street, and that is saying a great deal. 
The first day that Ted called at the "big 
house," as the children named it, happened to be 
the day before Christmas. It was twilight, and 
two men were carrying in a very tall spruce- 
tree fixed in a stand. Before the door closed, 
Ted had shpped in like a cat and stood look- 
ing curiously at the greens on the walls, the low 
table and chairs, and the big boxes in the room 

387 



where they set down the tree. What it all 
meant he did not know at first, but he had 
seen such trees on the sidewalk in just such 
boxes, and an idea came to him slowly that 
they had a festive significance. 'Ihe room was 
warm and bright, a large flag hung at one end 
between the windows, and there were colored 
prints on the walls. Ted found many things to 
look at, and, soon becoming tired, sat down on 
one of the small chairs to enjoy them at leisure. 
He did not feel like an intruder, because there 
were many other children looking on, and the 
lady who was hanging up wreaths and crosses 
did not notice him. He spoke to her first ; his 
impatience got the better of his shyness, and 
when she came down from the high ladder he 
went up to her and said in a piping voice : 

" Please, Missis, w'en does this concit begin ? " 

The lady smiled, but did not reply immedi- 
ately. She held out her hand in greeting to 
the new guest, and Ted placed his grimy 
little left hand in it in a ver}' awkward way, for 
no one had ever taught him how to shake 
hands. Then she said she was glad to see him 
and asked him his name. She told him hers ; 
it was Miss Miles. Ted looked at her sharply, 
and he decided to tell her. 

"Ted McFinley," he said; and then asked 
again, " W'en does this concit begin ? " 

" ^Vell, Ted," said Miss Miles, very sociably, 
" I am sorry if you are disappointed, but we 
are not going to have a concert here." 

" Wot 's them for, then ? " asked Ted, point- 
ing to the tree and the greens. " I seen them 
onct where a concit was, and I stood outside. 
I 'd come an' stan' here, too, if yer had con- 
cits. There 's nice singin' at concits. But if 
yer don't, — why, wot 's the good of them ? " 



;88 



KITTY S CHRISTMAS STOCKING. 



[Mar. 



Miss Miles drew a long breath ; she hardly 
knew where to begin. 

"We think the greens look pretty," she said; 
"and the tree is for Santa Claus. To-morrow 
is Christmas day, you know." 

Ted nodded his head, but there was one ob- 
scure point, and he did not mean to let it go. 

" Wot 's Sandyclaws ? " he asked. He put 
his difficulty all in one word, but it took a great 
many to answer it. Fortunately, Miss Miles 
felt equal to this question, and she told him the 
dear old story, winding up with the astonishing 
statement that this wonderful being was coming 
there that very night for the purpose of filling 
the stockings of good children. Ted had never 
heard anything like this before, but Miss Miles 
spoke with such assured faith that he felt it 
must be true, and he was puzzled as to whether 
he belonged among the elect. To his great 
delight her next words decided this question. 

•' Would you like to hang up your stocking, 
Ted ? " she asked, moved by his pitiful igno- 
rance of Christmas pleasures. 

" Yes," said Ted, heartily, tugging at the 
shoe of the well foot, meaning to leave the 
ragged stocking he had on. Miss Miles 
gently stopped him; she had a queer sort of 
smile just then, Ted thought, and she spoke 
very softly. 

" Oh, no," she said ; " Santa Claus likes clean 
stockings, Teddy. Get your mother to wash 
and mend one for you. Then bring it to me." 

She did not give him a new stocking, you 
see, because the College Setdement in River 
street is not an almshouse, and does not wish 
to make paupers of its neighbors. Ted stared 
at her, but he soon found voice to say : 

"I ain't got any mother. Dad and me lives 
alone. I does the washin', and I kin git yer a 
clean one, if yer wait till I come back." 

He hurried away on his crutch and he liur- 
ried back ; but by the time he returned the chil- 
dren had all been sent home, and Miss Miles 
sat alone, dressing a big doll. She heard him 
coming, and oi)ened the door herself, so Ted 
had no hesitation about entering (juite boldly. 
Under his jacket was the stocking; he drew it 
out before he had breath to speak. It was a 
long, coarse gray stocking recently washed and 
stiffened in the icy air in which it had been 



hung up to dry. It had in the knee a great 
hole, which had been hastily drawn up by 
Ted's over-and-over stitches, and in the toe 
was a smaller one which he had not noticed. 

" Will it do ? " asked the owner, eagerly. 
" The other one blowed away. I 'm so sorry, 
for I wanted to hang it up for Kitty. She 's my 
sister. She ain't very good ; but she 's good to 
me, an' they 've took her to the Juv'nile 'Sylum. 
She never knowed nothin' about that Sandy- 
claws, or maybe she 'd been better. Do you 
think he '11 go 'way up to the 'sylum ? " 

" Tell me more about Kitty," said Miss Miles, 
gently; "but first let us go down-stairs and get 
some tea. I 'm getting hungry — are n